IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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I.I 


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1.25      1.4 

j4 

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Photographic 

Sciences 

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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

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CIHIVI/ICMH 
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□    Coloured  covers/ 
CouvertMre  de  couleur 

I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


D 


D 
D 
D 
D 

n 


D 


Couverture  endommagie 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurie  et/ou  pelliculAe 


|~~|    Cover  title  missing/ 


Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


I      I    Coloured  maps/ 


Cartes  gAographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


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sont  IndiquAs  ci-dessous. 


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n 


Pages  damaged/ 
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0Showthrough/ 
Transparence 


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obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


The< 
to  th< 


Thei 
possi 
of  th 
filmii 


Origi 
begir 
the  ii 
sion, 
othei 
first  I 
sion, 
or  nil 


Thei 
shall 
TINU 
whic 

IVIapi 
diffei 
entire 
begir 
right 
requi 
meth 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film*  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu6  ci-dessous. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

V 

12X 

16X 

20X 

24X 

28X 

32X 

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to  the  generosity  of: 

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conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


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first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED ").  or  the  symbol  y  (meaning  "END  "), 
whichever  applies. 

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beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
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method: 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
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par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  salon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmis  en  commen^ant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparattra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  -^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE".  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN '. 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  dtre 
filmis  d  des  taux  de  rdduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas.  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n6cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


1  2  3 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

» 


BEl 
SO, 

ME 


^. 


j\L  Frdnrois  Hiijot,  the  hitvudnnt. 


NI 


) 


HE  SEATS  OF 
THE  MIGHTY 


BEING  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  CAPTAIN  ROBERT  MORAY, 
SOMET1MI-:  AN  OFFICER  IN  THE  VIRGINIA  REGI- 
MENT, AND  AFTERWARDS  OF  AMHERST's  REGIMENT 


BY 

GILBERT    PARKER 

AUTHOR     OF     I'lERRE     AND     HIS     PEOPLE 

WHEN  VALMONDCAME  TO  PONTIAG 

THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SWORD 

THE  TRESPASSER 

ETC 


iL  o  JL  o  f\4 


NEW  YORK  .  .  .  D.  APPLETON 
AND  COMPANY..  MDCCCXCVIl 


'"".SKc^^uV^^r""- 


/^  ^  ^  V  <^  /' 
/  ^  ^/ 


166933 


Copyright,  1896, 

By  d.  appleton  and  company. 


Copyright,  1895, 
By  Gilbert  Parker 


do  t\)e  XHcmoru  oi 


bee 

Jol 

in 

Cor 

ada 

the 

to  I 

tiqu 

Mr. 

SUgc 

Fair 

tains 

map; 

sel,  I 

torie 

and 

are  i 


rrwEFxVTOlir  NOTE. 


This  tale  would  never  have  been  written  had  it  not 
been  for  the  kindness  of  my  distinguished  friend  Dr. 
John  George  Bourinot,  C.  M.  (1.,  of  Ottawa,  wliose  studies 
in  parliamentary  procedure,  the  English  and  Canadian 
Constitutions,  and  the  history  and  development  of  Can- 
ada have  been  of  singular  benefit  to  the  Dominion  and  to 
the  Empire.  Through  Dr.  Bourinot's  good  offices  I  came 
to  know  Mr.  James  Lemoine,  of  Quebec,  the  gifted  an- 
tiquarian, and  President  of  the  Koyal  Society  of  Canada. 
Mr.  Lemoine  placed  in  my  hands  certain  historical  facts 
suggestive  of  romance.  Subsequently,  Mr.  George  ^I. 
Fairchild,  Jr.,  of  Cap  Ilouge,  Quebec,  whose  library  con- 
tains a  valuable  collection  of  antifjue  Canadian  books, 
maps,  and  prints,  gave  me  generous  assistance  and  coun- 
sel, allowing  me  "  the  run"  of  all  his  cluirts,  prints,  his- 
tories, and  memoirs.  Many  of  these  jjrints,  and  a  rare 
and  authentic  map  of  Wolfe's  operations  against  Quebec 

are  now  reproduced  in  this  novel,  and  may  be  considered 

vii 


nil 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MTCIITV. 


accurate  illustrations  of  places,  i)o«)|»l(',  and  ovonts.  By 
the  insertion  of  tlicso  fiiitliful  historical  oieincnts  it  is 
hoped  to  give  more  vividness  to  the  atmosphere  of  the 
time,  and  to  stren^^^then  the  verisimilitude  of  a  })iece  of 
fiction  which  is  not.  1  believe,  out  of  harniony  with  fact. 

OiLHKUT  Pai{ki;u. 


CONTENTS. 


cnXPTER 

I. 


— A.v  i:s(  oRT  TO 


II. — Tin:  MASTKIl  OF 
III.— TlIK  WAliKIl  AN 
IV.— Till:    RAT    IS    Til 

V. — Tin;  DKVMK  oi- 

VI. — IMoKAY   Ti:i,Ls   T 

VII. — "QroTii  littm: 
VIII. — As  VAIN-  AS  An 

IX. — A    LITTLK   CONCI 


X 

XI. 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX 

XX. 

XXI 

XXII. 


RANTK 

— An  offickr  of 


— Tin:  COMING  oi- 

— "TlIF  POINT  FN 
—"A  LITTLF  HO  A 
— AlKiANI)   COURX 


—In  ti 


IF   CIlAMni 


— Be  SAINT  OR  n 
— Through  Tin: 
— The  stffp  pat 
A  Dansfusf  a 
— Upon  the  ram 
— La  Jonoleuse 
— The  Lord  of 


PAnK 

THE   CITADEL 

'.] 

THE  King's  magazine    . 

1(1 

D  THE    SWORD     . 

'M 

E   TKAP        .           .            .           . 

43 

Tin:  DORMorsF 

55 

•HE   STOKV    OF    HIS    LIFE 

59 

,    G  A  It  A  INF  "          .            .            . 

77 

ISALOM            .            .            .            . 

85 

ERNIN(!     THE    ClIEVALIER    I 

E    LA 

I)A- 

•                      •                      •                       •                       t 

88 

MARINES     . 

103 

'    DOLTAIRE 

111) 

.VENOM ED   TOO  I" 

i:}0 

ST"     .... 

147 

'AL        .... 

.    ir,2 

:r  of  toktckf  . 

.     180 

HP         ...         . 

.     1!)0 

BARS    OF    Tin:    CACiE     . 

.     202 

■H    OF    CONQUEST  . 

.    212 

ND   THE    BaSTILE 

.    218 

PARTS. 

.    2:56 

•                       •                      •                       t                      • 

.    25;] 

Kamaraska       .        . 

.    2G2 

IZ 


TIIK  SKATS  OP  THK   MIGHTY. 


(IIAPTKn 

XXIII.— With  Wolii;  at  .Montm(»ki;n(.i 

XXIV.— TlIK   8Ar|ti;i)   ColNTKUSKiX 

XXV.— In  Tin;  ('ATiiKDUAr 

XXVI. — Tin;  si:(  hi;t  ok  tiii;  tai-kstuy 
XXVI I. — A  sii»i;-\viM)  (»K  i{i:vi:n<ih 
XXVIII.— "To  (iiKAT  Tin:  I)i;vil  vkt"    . 
XXIX.— "Mastkii  1)i;vii/'  Doi/rAiiiK    . 
^■•^'\'.— "  Wiii:ki;  all  Tin:  lovi:rs  can  iiiuk"     . 


'  AOB 

277 
311 

y:)3 

3G7 
373 


LIST   OF  ILLL'STUATKJNS. 


M.  Friin(;ois  Bigot,  the  Ititcndaiit 

Till'  ChriU'iiu  Siiiiil-r.diiis 

Tlic  liitcndaiit's  I'uluct^ 

(Iciionil  Moiitc'jiliii 

The  CitjuU'l  . 

Tlio  Mimor-noiisc  at  Ucaupoil 

(iciicral  Wolfo 

Ailiiiiral  Sauiulci's 

I'laii  of  the  Siego  uf  (^iuIjcc 

Th.'Old  r.lltos  of  QlK'lu'C!       . 

Tilt'  Calhc'dral,  vvilli  Market  in  llu."  ivar 
Tliu  Convent  of  the  Ursuliucs     . 


rAciN(» 

I'AiiK 


Front  i 


sjiifvr 


:u 

SI 
l!»t 
'J  7 1 
2!IT 
3:20 


The  Chuteau  Saint-Louis,  lC^'0-ia34. 


To 


1 

pest 

hmj 

had 

ruin 

you  \ 

still 

upon 

(jcner 

to  hn 

Data 

made 

other. 

moise 

0 

and  h 

So  1 1 

writti 

or  dis 

treatii 

could 


THE   SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


rUEL  UDE. 


To  Sir  Edward  Seafoutii,  Bart.,  of  Sangley  Hope  in 
Berbi/sJiire,  and  Scafortli  llun^e  in  Hanover  Square. 

Dear  Ned:  You  icill  have  them  written,  or  I  .shall  be 
pestered  to  nit/  fjrave  !  Is  that  the  voice  of  a  friend  of  so 
Jo)r/  standing?  And  yet  it  seems  hut  yesterday  since  we 
had  good  hours  in  Virginia  together,  or  met  among  the 
rui)is  of  Quebec.  My  memoirs — these  o,tiy  wiU  content 
you?  And  to  flatter  or  cajole  me  you  tell  me  Mr.  Pitt 
still  urges  on  the  matter.  In  truth,  ichen  he  touched  first 
upon  this,  I  thought  it  hut  the  courtesy  of  a  great  and 
generous  man.  But  indeed  I  am  proud  that  he  is  curious 
to  know  more  of  my  long  captivity  at  Quebec,  of  Monsieur 
Ddtaire  and  all  his  decdings  with  me,  and  the  motions  he 
made  to  serve  La  Pompadour  on  one  hand,  and,  on  the 
other,  to  tvin  from  me  that  most  j^crfcct  of  ladies.  Made- 


moiselle Alixe  Duvar 


ney. 


Our  bright  conquest  of  Quebec  is  now  heroic  memory, 
end  honour  and  fame  and  reward  have  been  parcelled  out. 
So  I  shall  but  briefly,  in  these  memoirs  {ay,  they  shall  he 
written,  and  with  a  good  hettrt),  travel  the  trail  of  history, 
or  discourse  upon  campaigns  and  sieges,  diploi/iacies  a?id 
treaties.  I  shall  keep  close  to  my  own  story  ;  for  that,  it 
would  seem,  yourself  a/id  the  illustrious  minister  of  the 


THE  SEATS  OP  THE  MIGHTY. 


Klnf)  most  icish  to  hear.  Yet  you  will  find  ffiuri)ig  in  it 
(jrcdt  men  like  our  fiaming  hero  Gencrtd  Wolfe^  and  aho 
General  Mojilcalni^who,  I slitdl  crer  keep  on  saijinfi^mifjht 
have  lield  Quebec  afjainst  us,  had  he  not  been  balked  by  the 
vain  Governor,  tliG  Marquis  dc  Vaudreuil ;  toy  ether  wit  ft 
such  )iotorious  men  as  the  Jntendant  Biyot,  civil  yovernor 
of  Xcw  France,  and  such  noble  yentlemen  as  the  Seiyneur 
Duvarney,  father  of  Alixe. 

1  sJiall  never  vieiu  ayain  the  citadel  on  those  tall 
heiyhts  ?vhere  J  u'((s  detained  so  barbarously,  nor  the  yra- 
cious  Manor  House  at  lieauport,  sacred  to  me  because  of 
her  trho  dwelt  therein — how  hmy  ayo,  how  lonyl  Of  all 
the  pictures  that  flash  before  my  mind  lohen  tliinkiny  on 
those  times,  one  is  most  with  tne:  that  of  the  fine  yuest- 
room  in  the  Manor  House,  where  I  see  inoviny  the  beniyn 
maid  whose  life  and  deeds  alone  can  make  this  story  worth 
telliny.  And  with  one  scene  therein,  and  it  the  most  mo- 
mcnto}(s  in  all  my  days,  1  shall  beyin  my  tale. 

I  bey  you  convey  to  Mr.  Pitt  my  most  obedient  com- 
2)lime)its,  a)id  say  that  I  take  his  polite  wish  as  my  com- 
mand. 

With  every  token  of  my  reyard,  f  am,  dear  Xcd,  affec- 


tionately your  friend, 


Robert  Moray. 


ig  in  it 

ml  also 
I,  might 
I  by  the 
er  witti 
over  nor 
k'igneur 

ose  tall 
the  fjra- 
'a use  of 
Of  all 
I  king  on 
e  guest- 
e  benign 
ry  icorth 
nost  mo- 

nt  coni- 
my  com- 

:d,  affec- 
liA  Y. 


I. 


AX   ESCORT  TO   THE   CITADEL. 


WifEN"  Monsieur  Doltaire  entered  the  salon,  and,  drop- 
ping lazily  into  a  chair  beside  Madame  Duvarney  and  her 
daughter,  drawled  out,  "England's  Braddock — fool  and 
general — has  gone  to  heaven,  Captain  ^[oray,  and  your 
})apers  send  you  there  also,"  I  did  not  shift  a  jot,  but 
looked  over  at  him  gravely — for,  God  knows,  I  was  startled 
— and  I  said, 

"The  General  is  dead?" 

I  did  not  dare  to  ask.  Is  he  defeated  ?  though  from 
Doltaire's  look  I  was  sure  it  was  so ;  and  a  sickness  crept 
through  me,  for  at  the  moment  that  seemed  the  end  of 
our  cause.  But  I  made  as  if  I  had  not  heard  his  words 
about  my  papers. 

"  Dead  as  a  last  year's  courtier,  shifted  from  the 
scene,"  he  replied ;  "  and  having  little  now  to  do,  we'll  go 
play  with  the  rat  in  our  trap." 

I  would  not  have  dared  look  towards  Alixe,  standing 
beside  her  mother  then,  for  the  song  in  my  blood  was 
pitched  too  high,  were  it  not  that  a  little  sound  broke 
from  her.  At  that  I  glanced,  and  saw  that  her  face  was 
still  and  quiet,  but  her  eyes  were  shining  anxiously,  and 
her  whole  body  seemed  listening.  I  dared  not  give  my 
glance  meaning,  though  I  wished  to  do  so.  She  had  served 
nie  much,  had  been  a  good  friend  to  me,  since  I  was  brought 
a  hostage  to  Quebec  from  Fort  Necessity.     There,  at  that 

3 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


little  post  on  the  Ohio,  Franco  throw  down  the  gauntlet, 
which  gave  us  tho*grcat  Seven  Years'  AVar.  And  though 
it  may  be  thought  I  speak  rashly,  the  lever  to  spring  that 
trouble  had  been  within  my  grasp.  Had  France  sat  still 
while  Austria  and  Prussia  quarrelled  that  long  fighting 
had  never  been.  The  game  of  war  luid  lain  with  the 
Grande  ^larquiso — or  La  Pompadour,  as  she  was  called — 
and  later  it  may  be  seen  how  I,  unwillingly,  moved  her  to 
set  it  going. 

Ausweriu":  Monsieur  Doltaire  I  said  stoutlv,  "I  am 
sure  our  general  made  a  good  fight ;  he  had  gallant  men." 

"  Truly  gallant,"  he  returned — "your  own  Virginians 
among  others"  (I  bowed);  "but  he  was  a  blunderer,  as 
wore  yuii  also,  monsieur,  or  you  had  not  sent  him  i)lans 
of  our  forts  and  letters  of  such  candour.  They  have  gone 
to  Franco,  my  captain." 

Madame  Duvarney  seemed  to  stiffen  in  her  chair,  for 
what  did  this  mean  but  that  I  was  a  spy?  and  the  young 
lady  behind  them  now  put  her  haiulkcrchief  to  her  mouth 
as  if  to  stop  a  word.  To  nuike  light  of  the  charges 
against  mvself  was  the  onlv  thing,  and  vet  I  liad  little 
heart  to  do  so.  There  was  that  between  Monsieur  Dol- 
taire and  myself — a  matter  I  shall  come  to  by  and  by — 
whicli  well  might  nuiko  me  apprehensive. 

"  My  sketch  and  my  gossip  with  my  friends,"  said  I, 
"can  have  little  interest  in  France." 

"  ]\[y  faith,  the  Grande  ^Marquise  will  find  a  relish  for 
them,"  he  said  pointedly  at  me.  He,  the  natural  son  of 
King  Louis,  had  played  the  part  between  La  Pompadour 
and  myself  in  the  grave  matter  of  which  I  spoke.  "  She 
loves  deciding  knotty  points  of  morality,"  ho  added. 

"  She  has  had  will  aiul  chance  enough,"  said  I  boldly, 
"  but  what  point  of  morality  is  here  ?" 

"  The  most  vital — to  you,"  he  rejoined,  fiicking  his 
handkerchief  a  little,  and  drawling  so  that  I  could  have 


AN  ESCORT  TO  THE  CITADEL. 


stopped  liis  moiitli  with  my  buiul.  "  Shall  ii  hostage  on 
parole  make  sketches  of  u  fort  and  send  them  to  liis 
friends,  who  in  turn  pass  them  on  to  a  foolish  general?" 

'"  When  one  party  to  an  Article  of  War  wilfully  breaks 
his  sworn  i)roniise,  sliall  the  other  be  held  to  his?"  I 
asked  quietly. 

1  was  glad  that  at  this  moment  the  Seigneur  I)u- 
varney  entered,  for  I  could  feel  the  air  now  growing 
colder  about  Madame  his  wife.  He  at  least  was  a  good 
friend ;  but  as  1  glanced  at  him  I  saw  his  face  was  trou- 
bled and  his  manner  distant.  He  looked  at  Monsieur 
Doltaire  a  moment  steadily,  stooped  to  his  wife's  hand, 
and  then  oifered  me  his  own  without  a  word.  This  done, 
lie  went  to  where  his  daughter  stood.  Siie  kissed  him, 
and,  as  she  did  so,  whispered  something  in  his  ear,  to 
which  he  nodded  assent.  1  knew  afterwards  that  she  had 
asked  him  to  keep  me  to  dinner  with  them. 

Presently  turning  to  Monsieur  Doltaire,  he  said  in- 
quiringly, "  You  have  a  squad  of  men  outside  my  house, 
DoltaiW?  " 

Doltaire  nodded  in  a  languid  way,  and  answered,  "An 
escort — for  Captain  ^[oray — to  the  citadel." 

I  knew  now,  as  he  had  said,  that  I  was  in  the  trap  ; 
that  he  had  begun  the  long  s])()rt  which  came  near  giving 
me  the  white  shroud  of  death,  as  it  turned  white  the  hair 
upon  my  head  ere  I  was  thirty-two.  Do  I  not  know  that 
the  indignities,  the  miseries  I  suffered,  I  owed  mostly  to 
him,  and  that  at  the  last  he  well-nigh  robbed  England  of 
her  greatest  pride,  the  taking  of  New  France? — For 
chance  sometimes  lets  humble  men  like  me  balance  tiie 
scales  of  fate  ;  and  I  was  humble  enough  in  rank,  if  in 
spirit  always  something  above  my  place. 

I  was  standing  as  he  sp(^ke  these  words,  and  I  turned 
to  him  and  said,  "  Monsieur,  I  am  at  your  service." 

"  I  have  sometimes  wished,"  he  said  instantly,  and  with 


II 'I' 


6 


THE  SEATS  OP  THE   MIGHTY. 


i;i 


a  courteous  if  irouicjil  gesture,  "  that  you  were  in  my 
service — tluit  is,  the  King's." 

I  bowed  as  to  a  coinpliineut,  for  I  would  not  see  the 
insolence,  and  I  retorted,  "  Would  I  could  offer  you  a 
company  in  my  Virginia  regiment !  " 

"Delightful!  delightful!"  he  rejoined.  "I  should 
make  as  good  a  Briton  as  you  a  Frenchman,  every  wdiit." 

I  suppose  he  would  have  kept  leading  on  to  such  silly 
play,  had  I  not  turned  to  Madame  Diivarney  and  said,  "  I 
am  most  sorry  that  this  misliap  falls  here  ;  but  it  is  not 
of  my  doing,  and  in  colder  comfort,  ]\l;idanio,  I  shall  re- 
call the  good  hours  spent  in  your  home." 

I  think  I  said  it  with  a  general  courtesy,  yet,  feeling 
the  eyes  of  the  young  lady  on  me,  perhaps  a  little  extra 
warmth  came  into  my  voice,  and  worked  upon  Madame, 
or  it  may  be  she  was  glad  of  my  removal  from  contact 
with  her  daughter ;  but  kindness  showed  in  her  face,  and 
she  replied  gently,  "  I  am  sure  it  is  only  for  a  few  days 
till  we  see  you  again." 

Yet  I  think  in  her  heart  she  knew  my  life  was  perilled  : 
those  were  rough  and  hasty  times,  when  the  axe  or  the 
rope  was  the  surest  way  to  deal  with  troubles.  Three 
years  before,  at  Fort  Necessity,  I  had  handed  my  sword 
to  my  lieutenant,  bidding  him  make  healthy  use  of  it, 
and,  travelling  to  Quebec  on  parole,  had  come  in  and  out 
of  this  house  with  great  freedom.  Yet  since  Alixe  had 
grown  towards  womanliood  there  had  been  marked  change 
in  Madame's  manner. 

"  The  days,  however  few,  will  be  too  long  until  I  tax 
your  courtesy  again,"  I  said.    "  I  bid  you  adieu,  Madame." 

"  Nay,  not  so,"  spoke  up  my  host ;  "  not  one  step : 
dinner  is  nearly  served,  and  you  must  both  dine  with  us. 
Nay,  but  I  insist,"  he  added,  as  he  saw  me  shake  my 
head.  "Monsieur  Doltaire  will  grant  you  this  courtesy, 
and  me  the  great  kindness.     Eh,  Doltaire?" 


AX  ESCORT  TO  THE  CITADEL.  7 

Doltairo  rose,  glancini^  from  Miuliuno  to  hor  (laiighter. 
Miidiime  was  smiling,  iis  if  begging  liis  consent;  for, 
prolligiitc  tlioiigli  lie  was,  his  })osili()n,  and,  more  than  all, 
his  personal  distinction,  made  him  a  welcome  guest  at 
most  liomes  in  Quebec.  Alixe  met  his  look  without  a 
yes  or  no  in  her  eyes — so  young,  yet  having  such  control 
and  wisdom,  as  I  liave  liad  reason  beyond  all  men  to 
know.  Something,  however,  'u\  the  tem})er  of  the  scene 
had  filled  her  with  a  kind  of  glow,  which  added  to  her 
beauty  and  gave  her  dignity.  The  spirit  of  her  look 
caught  the  admiration  of  this  expatriated  courtier,  and  1 
knew  that  a  deeper  cause  than  all  our  past  conflicts — and 
they  were  great — would  now,  or  soon,  set  him  fatally 
against  me. 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  wait  Captain  ^loray's  i)leasure," 
he  said  presently,  "  and  to  serve  my  own  by  sitting  at 
your  table.  I  was  to  have  dined  with  the  Intendant  this 
afternoon,  but  a  messenger  shall  tell  him  duty  stays  me. 
...  If  you  will  excuse  me  I "  he  added,  going  to  the 
door  to  find  a  man  of  his  company,  lie  looked  back  for 
an  instant,  as  if  it  struck  him  I  might  seek  escape,  for 
he  believed  in  no  man's  truth  ;  but  he  only  said,  "  I 
may  fetch  my  men  to  your  kitchen,  Duvarney  V  'Tis  raw 
outside." 

"  Surely.  I  shall  see  they  have  some  comfort,"  was 
the  reply. 

Doltaire  then  left  the  room,  and  Duvarney  came  to 
me.  "This  is  a  bad  business,  Morav,"  he  said  sadlv 
"  There  is  some  mistake,  is  there  not?" 

I  looked  him  fair  in  the  face.  "  There  is  a  mistake," 
I  answered.  "  I  am  no  spy,  and  I  do  not  fear  that  I  shall 
lose  my  life,  my  honour,  or  my  friends  by  olTensive  acts  of 


mine. 


55 


"  I  believe  you,"  he  responded,  "  as  1  have  believed 
since  you  came,  thongh  there  has  been  gabble  of  your 


■<«l    /*    .-w 


8 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


I 


doinffs.  I  do  not  for^^ot  vou  l)Oiif]:ht  niv  life  bank  from 
thoso  wild  Moliiiwlvs  liv(3  yours  ago.  Vou  have  my  hand 
in  trouble  or  out  of  it." 

Upon  my  soul,  I  could  liave  fallen  on  his  neck,  for 
tlie  blow  to  our  eause  and  the  shadow  on  my  own  fate 
opj)ressed  me  for  the  moment! 

At  this  point  the  ladies  left  the  room  to  make  some 
little  toilette  before  dinner,  and  as  they  passed  me  the 
sleeve  of  Alixe's  dress  touched  mv  arm.  J  cauirht  her 
lingers  for  an  iustant,  and  to  tliis  day  1  can  feel  that 
warm,  rieh  current  of  life  coursing  from  linger-tips  to 
heart.  She  did  not  look  at  me  at  all,  hut  ])assed  on  after 
her  mother.  Never  till  that  momeut  had  there  been  any 
open  show  of  heart  between  u^.  When  I  lirst  came  to 
Quebec  (I  own  it  with  shame)  1  was  inclined  to  use  her 
youthful  friendship  for  private  and  ])atriotic  ends  ;  but 
that  soon  passed,  and  then  I  wished  her  companionship 
for  true  love  of  her.  Also,  I  had  been  held  back  be- 
cause when  I  first  knew  her  she  seemed  but  a  child. 
Yet  how  quickly  and  how  wisely  did  she  grow  out  of  her 
childhood  I  She  had  a  playful  wit,  and  her  talents  were 
far  beyond  her  years.  It  auuized  me  often  to  hear  her 
sum  up  a  thing  in  some  pregnant  sentence  which,  when 
you  came  to  think,  was  the  one  word  to  be  said.  She  had 
such  a  deep  look  out  of  her  blue  eyes  tlnit  you  were  hard- 
ly drawn  from  them  to  see  the  warm  sweet  colour  of  her 
face,  the  fair  broad  forehead,  the  brown  hair,  the  delicate 
richness  of  her  lips,  which  ever  were  full  of  humour  and 
of  seriousness — both  running  together,  as  you  may  see  a 
laughing  brook  steal  into  the  quiet  of  a  river. 

Duvarnev  and  I  were  thus  alone  for  a  moment,  and 
he  straightway  drojiped  a  hand  upon  my  shoulder.  "  Let 
me  advise  vou,"  he  said,  "be  friendlv  with  Doltaire.  lie 
has  great  influence  at  the  Court  and  elsewhere.  He  can 
make  your  bed  hard  or  soft  at  the  citadel." 


AX  ESCORT  TO  THE  CITADML. 


0 


t,  and 
"  Let 
lie 
Le  ctiu 


I  sniilcd  at  him,  and  rojilicd,  "  1  sluiU  sleep  no  less 
sound  because  of  Monsieur  Doltaire." 

"  Von  are  hitter  in  your  lr(»ui)le,"  said  lie. 

I  made  iiastc  to  answer,  "  Xo,  no,  my  own  troubles  do 
not  woi,i;]i  so  heavy — but  our  (JeneraPs  death  !  " 

"  Vou  are  a  i)atriot,  mv  friend,"  he  added  waruilv. 
"I  couhl  well  have  been  content  with  our  success  airainst 
your  En,!,disii  army  without  this  deep  danger  to  your 
person." 

I  put  out  my  hand  to  him,  but  I  did  not  si)eak,  for 
just  tiien  Doltaire  entered.  Jle  was  smiling  at  something 
in  his  though.t 

"The  fortunes  are  with  the  Intendant  always,"  said 
ho.  "  Wiien  things  are  at  their  worst,  and  the  King's 
storehouse,  the  dear  La  Friponne,  is  to  bo  ripped  by  our 
rebel  peasants  like  a  sawdust  doll,  here  comes  this  gay 
news  of  our  success  on  the  Oiiio;  and  in  that  Braddock's 
death  the  whining  beggars  will  forget  their  empty  bellies, 
and  bless  where  they  meant  to  curse.  What  fools,  to  be 
sure!  They  liad  better  loot  La  Friponne.  Lord,  how  we 
love  fighting,  we  French  !  Aiul  His  so  much  easier  to 
dance,  or  drink,  or  love."  lie  stretched  out  his  shapely 
legs  as  he  sat  musijig. 

Duvarney  shrugged  a  shoidder,  smiling.  "  l»ut  you, 
Doltaire — there's  no  m.an  out  of  I^ranco  that  fights  more." 

He  lifted  an  eyebrow.  "  One  must  be  in  the  fashion  ; 
besides,  it  does  need  some  skill  to  fight,  'i'he  others — to 
dance,  drink,  love  :  blind  men's  games  ! "  lie  smiled  cyn- 
ically into  the  distance. 

I  have  never  known  a  man  who  interested  me  so 
much — never  one  so  original,  so  varied,  and  so  uncom- 
mon in  his  nature.  I  marvelled  at  the  i)ith  and  depth 
of  his  observations ;  for  though  I  agreed  not  with  him 
once  in  ten  times,  I  loved  his  great  reflective  cleverness 
and   his   fine   j)enetration — singular   gifts    in   a   man   of 


10 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


action.  But  action  to  him  was  a  i)laytirno;  he  liad  that 
irresponsibility  of  tlio  Court  from  whicii  ho  came,  its 
scornful  endurance  of  defeat  or  misery,  its  llippant  look 
upon  the  world,  its  scoundrel  view  of  women.  'J'lien  ho 
and  Duvarney  talked,  and  1  sat  thinkin;,'.  Perhaps  the 
I)assion  of  a  cause  grows  in  you  as  you  sulTer  for  it,  and  1 
liad  suffered,  and  sulTered  most  by  a  hitter  inaction.  (Jov- 
crnor  Dinwiddie,  Mr.  Washin<(ton  (alas  that,  as  1  write 
the  fragment  chapters  of  my  life,  among  the  hills  where 
Montrose  my  ancestor  fought,  (Jeorge  leads  the  colonists 
against  the  realm  of  England  I),  and  the  rest  were  sulfer- 
ing,  but  they  were  fighting  too.  Jirought  to  their  knees 
they  could  rise  again  to  battle  ;  and  I  thought  then,  J[ow 
more  glorious  to  bo  with  my  gentlemen  in  blue  from  Vir- 
ginia, holding  back  death  from  tlie  General,  and  at  hist 
falling  myself,  than  to  spend  good  years  a  hostage  at  Que- 
bec, knowing  that  Canada  was  for  our  taking,  yet  doing 
nothing  to  advance  the  hour! 

In  the  thick  of  these  thoughts  I  was  not  conscious  of 
what  the  two  were  saying,  but  at  last  I  caught  ^fadamo 
Cournal's  name;  by  which  I  guessed  Monsieur  Doltairo 
was  talking  of  lier  amours,  of  whicli  the  chief  and  final  was 
with  Bigot  the  Intendant  to  whom  the  King  had  given 
all  civil  government,  all  j^ower  over  commerce  and  finance 
in  the  country.  Tlie  rivalry  between  the  Governor  and 
the  Intendant  was  keen  and  vital  at  this  time,  though  it 
changed  later,  as  I  will  sliow.  At  her  name  I  looked  up 
and  caught  ]\Ionsieur  Doltaire's  eye. 

He  read  my  thoughts.  "  You  have  had  blithe  hours 
here,  monsieur,"  he  said — "  you  know  the  way  to  probe 
us ;  but  of  all  the  ladies  who  could  be  most  useful  to  you, 
you  left  out  the  greatest.  There  you  erred.  I  say  it  as  a 
friend,  not  as  an  oflicer,  tliere  you  erred.  From  Madame 
Cournal  to  Bigot,  from  Bigot  to  Vaudreuil  the  Governor, 
from  the  Governor  to  France.     But  now " 


AX  RsroUT  To  TIIH  citadf:!.. 


11 


IIo  pansoil,  for  .MiidaJiio  Duvanu'y  ami  lior  daughter 
had  conio,  and  wo  all  rose. 

'['he  ladies  had  hoard  oiioii^h  to  know  Doltairo's  mean- 
ing. "Hut  now — Captain  Moray  tliiu's  witii  us,"  said 
Madame  Duvarney  (jiiietly  and  meaningly. 

"  Vet  I  dine  witii  Mathime  Cournal,"'  rejoined  Dol- 
taire,  smiling. 

"One  nuiy  use  more  option  with  enemies  and  prison- 
ers," she  said  keeiUy,  and  the  shot  struck  home,  in  so 
small  a  place  it  was  not  easy  to  draw  lines  close  and  line, 
and  it  was  in  the  power  of  the  Jnteiulant,  hacked  hy  his 
confederates,  to  ruin  almost  any  family  in  the  province  if 
he  chose;  and  that  he  chose  at  times  1  knew  well,  as  did 
my  hostess.  Yet  she  was  a  woman  of  courage  ami  nobility 
of  thought,  and  1  knew  well  where  her  daughter  got  her 
good  llavour  of  mind. 

I  could  see  sometliing  devilish  in  the  smile  at  J)ol- 
taire's  lips,  but  his  look  was  wandering  between  Alixe  and 
me,  and  he  replied  urbanely,  "I  have  ambition  yet — to 
connive  at  captivity";  and  then  he  gazed  full  and  mean- 
ingly at  her. 

I  can  see  her  now,  her  hand  on  the  high  back  of  a  great 
oak  chair,  the  lace  of  her  wdiite  sleeve  falling  away,  and 
her  soft  arm  showin^]:,  her  eves  nx  his  without  wavoriuij. 
They  did  not  drop,  nor  turn  aside;  they  held  straight  on, 
calm,  stroui? — aiul  understand ini(.  liv  that  look  I  saw 
she  read  him ;  she,  who  had  seen  so  little  of  the  world, 
felt  what  lie  was,  and  met  his  invading  interest  firmly, 
yet  sadly;  for  I  knew  long  after  that  a  smother  was  at 
her  heart  then,  foreshadowings  of  dangers  that  would  try 
her  as  few  women  are  tried,  'riuink  God  that  good 
women  are  born  w'itli  greater  souls  for  trial  than  men ; 
that  given  once  an  anchor  for  their  hearts  they  hold  until 
the  cables  break. 

When  we  were  about  to  enter  the  dining-room,  I  saw, 


12 


TFIK  SEATS  OF  TIIK  MTfillTV. 


I 


to  my  joy,  Mii<ljitiio  iiujliiie  towards  Doltairo,  and  I  know 
that  Alixo  was  for  myself— tlioii;,di  hvv  motlicr  wislunl  it 
little,  I  am  sun^  As  alio  took  my  arm,  her  lin;,^'r-ti|ts 
pliiriLjed  softly  into  the  velvet  of  my  sleeve,  ^'iviii;,'  me  a 
thrill  of  eoiira;(e.  I  felt  my  spirits  rise,  and  1  set  myself 
to  carry  thin<,rs  oil  gaily,  to  have  this  last  hour  with  her 
clear  of  gloom,  for  it  seemed  easy  to  think  that  wo  should 
meet  no  more. 

As  wo  passed  into  the  dining-room,  I  said,  as  I  had 
said  the  lirst  time  I  went  to  dinner  in  her  father's  house, 
"Shall  we  bo  llippant,  or  grave':'" 

1  guessed  that  it  would  t(Mich  her.  She  raised  her  eves 
to  mine  and  answered,  "  We  are  grave ;  let  us  seem  flippant." 

In  those  days  I  had  Ji  store  of  spirits.  1  was  si'ldom 
dismiiyed,  for  life  liad  been  such  a  rough-aiul-tuni))lo 
game  that  I  held  to  cheerfuliu'ss  and  humour  as  a  hills- 
man  to  his  broadsword,  knowing  it  the  greatest  of  weapons 
with  a  foe,  and  the  very  stone  aiul  mortar  of  friendshi]). 
So  wo  were  cheerful,  touching  lightly  on  events  around  us, 
laughing  at  gossip  of  the  doorways  (1  in  my  ])oor  French), 
casting  small  stones  at  whatever  drew  our  notice,  not  for- 
getting a  throw  or  two  at  Chateau  Uigot,  the  Intendant's 
country  house  at  Charlesbourg  live  miles  away,  where 
base  plots  wore  hatched,  reputations  soiled,  and  all  clean 
things  dishonoured.  Jiut  Alixe,  the  sweetest  soul  Fraiu^e 
ever  gave  the  world,  could  not  know  all  1  knew  ;  guessing 
only  at  lieavy  carousals,  cards,  song,  and  raillery,  with  far- 
oil  hints  of  feet  smaller  than  lit  in  cavalrv  boots  danciii": 
among  the  glasses  on  the  table.  1  was  never  before  so 
charmed  with  her  swift  intelligence,  for  I  liaveover  lacked 
great  nimbleness  of  thought  and  power  to  make  nice  play 
with  the  tongue. 

"  You  have  been  three  years  with  us,"  suddenly  said 
her  father,  ])assing  me  the  wine.  "  How  time  has  flown  ! 
How  much  has  happened !  " 


ol 


AX  ESroiiT  TO  TllK  tITADKL. 


l.T 


lor- 

illlt's 

k'jiu 

aiice 

sing 

far- 


(Mllg 


"  Mudamo  ('oiiriiar.s  lnisl)antl  lia^  math^  ihrco  million 
francs,"  said  Doltairc,  wiih  dry  in/ny  and  trntli. 

Duvariu'y  .slirnggcij  a  slionldrr,  stilViiicd  ;  foi-,  ohlitpio 
as  tlui  Hiigguslion  was,  lie  did  imt  caro  lu  luivu  liis  daugh- 
ter hear  it. 

"  And  VaiidriMiil  has  sent  to  W-rsailli's  hecs  buzzing 
of  Jiigot  and  Company, "  addled  tiu-  impish  satirist. 

Madame  l)uvarnry  resj)ond«Ml  with  a  look  of  interest, 
and  the  Seiirnenr's  o\oa  sti'adied  to  his  plate.  All  at 
onoo  1  divined  that  the  Seigneur  had  knowji  of  the 
(Jovernor's  aetion,  ami  njay))o  liad  eonnselK'd  with  him, 
siding  against  Iligot.  If  that  wero  so — as  it  proved  to 
bo — he  was  in  a  nest  of  scorpions;  for  who  among  them 
would  Sparc  him  :  Marin,  Cournal,  Iiigand,  the  Intendant 
himself?  Sueh  as  ho  wero  thwarted  right  and  left  in 
this  career  of  knavery  and  pnltlie  evils. 

"And  our  people  have  turned  beggai's;  poor  and 
starved,  thoy  bog  at  the  door  of  the  King's  storehouKf — 
it  is  well  called  La  Friponne,"  said  Madamo  Dnvarnov, 
with  some  boat ;  for  she  was  over  liberal  to  the  poor,  and 
sho  had  seen  manor  after  manor  robbed,  aiid  peasant 
farmers  made  to  sell  their  corn  for  a  song,  to  be  sold  to 
them  again  at  famine  ])rices  by  La  Friponno.  Even  now 
Quebec  was  full  of  pilgrim  poor  begging  against  the  hard 
winter  and  execrating  their  spoilers. 

Doltaire  was  too  fond  of  diirc:in^'  at  the  heart  of 
things  not  to  admit  she  s})oke  truth. 

"  La  Pompadour  ot  La  Friponno  1 
Qu'cst  quo  cela,  men  |)ctit  hoinnio?" 

'•  Les  (It'ux  torril)l('s,  )ua  vhCrc  luignonno, 
Mais,  c'est  cela — 
La  pompadour  ot  La  friponne  1  " 

He  said  this  with  cool  drollery  and  point,  in  the  })atois 
of  the  native,  so  that  ho  set  ns  all  laughing,  in  spite  of 
our  mutual  apprehensions. 


14 


THE  SKATS  OF  TIIK  MIGHTY. 


Then  he  continued,  "  And  the  King  has  sent  a  chorus 
to  the  play,  with  eyes  for  the  preposterous  make-believe, 
and  more,  no  purse  to  lill." 

We  all  knew  he  meant  himself,  and  we  knew  also  that 
so  far  as  money  went  he  spoke  true  ;  tluit  thougii  hand- 
in-glove  with  P)igot,  he  was  poor  sive  for  what  he 
made  at  the  gaming-table  and  got  from  France.  There 
was  tlie  thing  to  have  clinched  me  to  him,  had  matters 
been  other  than  they  were ;  for  all  my  life  I  have  loathed 
the  sordid  soul,  and  I  would  rather,  in  these  my  ripe  years, 
eat  with  a  highwayman  who  takes  his  life  in  his  hands 
than  with  the  civilian  who  robs  his  king  and  the  king's 
poor,  and  has  no  better  trick  than  false  accounts  nor 
better  friend  than  the  pettifogging  knave.  Doltaire  had 
no  burning  love  for  France,  and  little  faith  in  anything; 
for  he  was  of  those  Versailles  water-flies  who  recked 
not  if  the  world  blackened  to  cinders  when  their  lights 
went  out.  As  will  be  seen  by  and  by,  he  had  come  here 
to  seek  me  and  through  me  to  serve  the  Grande  Marquise. 

The  evening  was  well  forward  when  Doltaire,  rising 
from  his  seat  in  the  drawing-room,  bowed  to  me,  and 
said,  "  If  it  pleases  you,  monsieur  ?  " 

I  rose  also,  and  prepared  to  go.  There  was  little  talk, 
yet  we  all  kept  np  a  play  of  cheerfulness.  When  I  came 
to  take  the  Seigneur's  hand,  Doltaire  was  a  distance  off, 
talking  to  ]\Iadame.  "  Moray,"  said  the  Seigneur  quickly 
and  quietly,  "  trials  portend  for  both  of  us."  lie  nodded 
towards  Doltaire. 

"  But  we  shall  come  safe  through,"  said  I. 

"  Be  of  good  courage,  and  adieu,"  he  answered,  as 
Doltaire  turned  towards  ns. 

]\Iy  last  words  were  to  Alixe.  The  great  moment  of 
my  life  was  come.  If  1  could  but  say  one  thing  to  her 
out  of  earshot,  I  would  stake  all  on  the  hazard.  She  was 
standing  beside  a  cabinet,  very  still,  a  strange  glow  in  her 


hi 


AN  ESCORT  TO  THE  CITADEL. 


15 


liere 
uise. 


and 


'd,  as 
lit  of 


eyes,  a  new,  fine  firmness  at  tlie  lips.  I  felt  I  dared  not 
look  as  I  woid  1 ;  I  feared  tliero  was  no  chance  now  to 
speak  wliat  I  would.  But  I  came  slowly  up  the  room 
with  her  mother.  As  we  did  so  Doltaire  exclaimed  aud 
started  to  the  window,  and  the  Seigneur  and  Madame 
followed.     A  red  light  was  showing  on  the  panes. 

I  caught  Alixe's  eye,  and  held  it,  couiing  (piickly  to 
her.  All  backs  were  on  us.  I  took  her  hand  and 
pressed  it  to  my  lips  suddenly.  She  gave  a  little  gasp, 
aud  I  saw  her  bosom  heave. 

"  I  am  going  from  prison  to  prison,''  said  I,  "  and  1 
leave  a  loved  jailer  behind." 

She  understood.  ''  Vour  jailer  goes  also,"  she  an- 
swered, with  a  sad  smile. 

"  I  love  you,  Alixe,  I  love  you  !  "  I  urged. 

She  was  very  pale.  "  Oh,  Robert ! "  she  whispered 
timidly  ;  and  then,  "  I  will  be  brave,  I  will  help  you,  and 
I  will  not  forget.     CJod  guard  you." 

That  was  all,  for  Doltaire  turned  to  me  and  said, 
"  They've  made  of  La  Friponne  a  torch  to  liglit  you  to 
the  citadel,  monsieur." 

A  moment  afterwards  we  were  outside  in  the  keen 
October  air,  a  squad  of  soldiers  attending,  our  faces  to- 
wards the  citadel  heights.  I  looked  back,  dofiing  my  cap. 
The  Seigneur  and  ]Madame  stood  at  the  door,  but  my 
eyes  were  for  a  window  where  stood  Alixe.  The  refiec- 
tion  of  the  far-off  fire  bathed  the  glass,  and  her  face  had 
a  glow,  the  eyes  shining  through,  intense  and  most  seri- 
ous. Yet  she  was  brave,  for  she  lifted  her  handkerchief, 
shook  it  a  little,  and  smiled. 

As  though  the  salute  were  meant  for  him,  Doltaire 
bowed  twice  impressively,  and  then  we  stepped  forward, 
the  great  fire  over  against  the  Heights  lighting  us  and 


LJurrving  us  on. 


We  scarcely  spoke  as  we  went,  though  Doltaire  hummed 


16 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGnTY. 


now  and  tlicn  the  air  La  Powpadour  ct  La  Friponne. 
As  we  ciime  nearer  I  said,  "  Are  you  bure  it  is  La  Fri])onne, 
monsieur  ?  " 

"  It  is  not,"  lie  said,  pointing.     "  See  !  " 

The  sky  was  full  of  shaking  sparks,  and  a  smell  of 
burning  grain  came  down  the  wind. 

"  One  of  the  granaries,  then,"  I  added,  "  not  La  Fri- 
ponne itself?  " 

To  this  he  nodded  assent,  and  we  pushed  on. 


II. 


THE   MASTER   OF   THE    KIXG  S    MAGAZINE. 


"  What  fools,"  said  Doltaire  presently,  "  to  burn  the 
bread  and  oven  too  !  If  only  they  were  less  honest  in  a 
world  of  rogues,  poor  moles  !  " 

C'oming  nearer,  we  saw  that  La  Friponne  itself  was 
safe,  but  one  warehouse  was  doomed  and  another  threat- 
ened. The  streets  were  full  of  people,  and  thousands  of 
excited  peasants,  labourers,  and  sailors  were  shouting, 
"  Down  with  the  palace  I     Down  with  Bigot !  " 

We  came  upon  the  scene  at  the  most  critical  moment. 
Xone  of  the  Governor's  soldiers  were  in  sight,  but  up  the 
Heights  we  could  hear  the  steady  tramp  of  General 
Montcalm's  infantry  as  they  came  on.  Where  were 
liigot's  men  ?  Tliere  was  a  handful — one  company — ■ 
drawn  np  before  La  Friponne,  idly  leaning  on  their 
muskets,  seeing  the  great  granary  burn,  and  watching 
La  Friponne  threatened  by  the  mad  crowd  and  the  fire. 
There  was  not  a  soldier  before  the  Inteudant's  palace, 
not  a  light  in  any  window. 


a 


THE   PIASTER  OF  THE   KING'S  MAGAZINE. 


17 


"  Wliiit  is  this  weird  trick  of  Bigot's?"  said  Doltairo, 


musing. 


tjiny — ■ 

their 

:chiiig 

e  fire. 


The  Governor,  we  knew,  had  been  out  of  tlic  city  tliat 
day.  ]Uit  where  was  liigot?  At  a  word  from  Doitairo 
we  pushed  forward  towanls  tlie  pahice,  tlie  soldiers  keep- 
ins:  me  in  tlieir  midst.  We  were  not  a  liundred  feet  from 
tlie  great  steps  when  two  gates  at  the  right  suddenly 
swung  open,  and  a  carriage  rolled  out  swiftly  and  dashed 
down  into  the  crowd.  1  recognised  the  coachman  first — 
Bigot's,  an  old  one-eyed  soldier  of  surpassing  nerve,  and 
devoted  to  his  master.  The  crowd  parted  right  and  left. 
Suddenly  the  carriage  stopped,  and  Bigot  stood  up,  folding 
his  arms,  and  glancing  round  with  a  disdainful  smile  with- 
out speaking  a  word.     Jle  carried  a  paper  in  one  hand. 

Here  were  at  least  two  thousand  armed  and  unarmed 
peasants,  sick  with  misery  and  oppression,  in  the  presence 
of  their  undefended  tyrant.  One  shot,  one  blow  of  a  stone, 
one  stroke  of  a  knife — to  the  end  of  a  shameless  pillage. 
But  no  hand  was  raised  lo  do  the  deed.  The  ro.ir  of 
voices  subsided — he  waited  for  it — and  silence  was  broken 
only  by  the  crackle  of  the  burning  building,  the  tramp  of 
Montcalm's  soldiers  on  Palace  Hill,  and  the  tolling  of  the 
cathedral  bell.  I  thourjlit  it  stran<]:e  that  almost  as  Bi<]^ot 
issued  forth  the  wild  clanging  gave  place  to  a  cheerful  peal. 

After  standing  for  a  moment,  looking  round  him,  his 
eve  restinsf  on  Doitairo  and  mvself  (we  were  but  a  litllo 
distance  from  him),  Bigot  said  in  a  loud  voice :  "  What 
do  von  want  with  me?  Do  you  think  I  mav  be  moved 
bv  threats?  Do  vou  punish  me  bv  burninj::  vour  own 
food,  which,  when  the  English  are  at  our  doors,  is  your 
only  hope?  Fools!  How  easily  cou]<l  I  turn  my  cannon 
and  my  men  u])on  you  I  You  think  to  frighten  me.  Who 
do  you  think  I  am — a  Bostonnais  or  an  Englishman? 
You — revolutionists !  T'sh  !  You  are  wild  dogs  without 
a  leader.     You  want  one  that  you  can  trust;  you  want 


18 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


no  coward,  but  one  who  feurs  you  not  at  your  wildest. 
Well,  I  will  be  your  leader.  I  do  not  fear  you,  and  I 
do  not  love  you,  for  how  might  you  deserve  love? 
By  ingratitude  and  aspersion?  Who  has  the  King's 
favour?  Franr'ois  ]3igot.  Who  has  the  ear  of  the  Grande 
Marquise?  .Frain/ois  liigot.  Who  stands  firm  while 
others  tremble  lest  tiieir  power  pass  to-morrow?  Fran(;ois 
Bigot.  Who  else  dare  invite  revolution,  this  danger  " — 
his  hand  sweeping  to  the  flames — "  mIio  but  Fran(;ois 
Bigot?"  lie  paused  for  a  moment,  and  looking  up  to 
the  leader  of  Montcalnrs  soldiers  on  the  Heights,  waved 
him  back  ;  then  continued  : 

"  And  to-day,  when  I  am  ready  to  give  you  groat 
news,  you  play  the  mad  dog\s  game ;  you  destroy  what  1 
had  meant  to  give  you  in  our  hour  of  danger,  when  those 
English  came.  I  made  you  sulfer  a  little,  that  you  might 
live  then.  Only  to-day,  because  of  our  great  and  glorious 
victory '' 

lie  paused  again.  The  peal  of  bells  became  louder. 
Far  up  on  the  Heights  we  heiird  the  calling  of  bugles  and 
the  beating  of  drums ;  and  now  I  saw  the  whole  large 
plan,  the  deep  dramatic  scheme,  lie  had  withheld  the 
news  of  the  victory  that  he  might  announce  it  when  it 
would  most  turn  to  his  own  glory.  Perhaps  he  had  not 
counted  on  the  burning  of  the  warehouse,  but  this  would 
tell  now  in  his  favour.  He  was  not  a  large  man,  but  he 
drew  himself  up  with  dignity,  and  continued  in  .a  con- 
temptuous tone : 

"  Because  of  our  splendid  victory,  I  designed  to  tell 
you  all  my  plans,  and,  pitying  your  trouble,  divide  among 
you  at  the  smallest  price,  that  all  might  jiay,  the  corn 
which  now  goes  to  feed,  the  stars.*" 

At  that  moment  some  one  from  the  Heights  above 
called  out  shrilly,  "  What  lie  is  in  that  2)apcr,  Francois 
Bigot?" 


THE  MASTEIl  OF  THE  KING'S  MAGAZINK. 


19 


great 


corn 


I  looked  up,  as  did  the  crowd.  A  woman  stood  upon 
a  point  of  the  great  rock,  a  red  robe  lumging  on  her,  her 
hair  free  over  her  shoulders,  her  finger  pointing  at  the 
Intendant.  Bigot  only  glanced  up,  then  smoothed  out 
the  i)aper. 

He  said  to  the  people  in  a  clear  but  less  steady  voice, 
for  I  could  see  that  the  woman  had  disturbed  him,  'MJo 
prav  to  be  for^nven  for  vour  insolence  and  foil  v.  His 
most  Christian  ^[ajesty  is  triumphant  upon  the  Ohio. 
The  English  have  been  killed  in  thousands,  and  their 
(Jeneral  with  them.  Do  you  not  hear  the  joy-bells  in  the 
Church  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Victories?  and  more — listen  I  " 

There  burst  from  the  lleiijhts  on  the  other  side  n  can- 
non  shot,  and  then  another  and  anotlier.  There  was  a 
great  commotion,  and  many  ran  to  J)igot's  carriage, 
reached  in  to  touch  his  hand,  and  called  down  blessings 
on  him. 

"  See  that  you  save  the  other  granaries,"  he  urged, 
adding,  with  a  sneer,  "  and  forget  not  to  bless  La  Friponne 
in  your  prayers !  " 

It  was  a  clever  piece  of  acting.  Presently  from  the 
Heights  above  came  the  woman's  voice  again,  so  piercing 
that  the  crowd  turned  to  her. 

"  Fran(;ois  J5igot  is  a  liar  and  a  traitor  1 "  she  cried. 
"  Beware  of  Fran(/ois  IMgot !     CJod  has  cast  him  out." 

A  dark  look  came  upon  Bigot's  face ;  but  presently  he 
turned,  and  gave  a  sign  to  some  one  near  the  palace.  The 
doors  of  the  courtyard  flew  open,  and  out  came  squad 
after  squad  of  soldiers.  In  a  moment,  they,  with  the 
people,  were  busy  carrying  water  to  pour  u]ion  the  side 
of  the  endangered  warehouse.  Fortunately  the  wind  was 
with  them,  else  it  and  the  palace  also  would  have  been 
burned  that  night. 

At  last  Bigot  beckoned  to  Doltaire  and  to  me  and  we 
both  came  over. 


20 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


"Doltairo,  wo  looked  for  y(jii  ut  dinner,"  he  said. 
"Was  Captain  Moray" — nodding  towards  nie — "lost 
among  the  petticoats':'  He  knows  the  trick  oi'  cnp  and 
saucer.  Jietween  the  sip  and  click  he  sucked  in  secrets 
from  our  garrison — a  s])y  where  had  been  a  soldier,  as  we 
thought.     You  once  wore  a  sword.  Captain  Moray — eh  ':'" 

"If  the  (jlovernor  would  grant  me  leave,  1  would  not 
only  wear,  but  use  one,  your  excellency  knows  well  where," 
said  1. 

"  Large  speaking,  Captain  ^loray.  They  do  that  in 
Virginia,  I  am  told." 

"  in  Cascony  there's  quiet,  your  excellency." 

Doltaire  laughed  outriglit,  for  it  was  said  that  Bigot, 
in  his  coltish  days,  had  a  shrewish  Gascon  wife,  whom  ho 
took  leave  to  send  to  heaven  before  her  time.  1  saw  the 
Intendant's  mouth  twitch  aufrrilv. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  you  have  a  tongue ;  we'll  see  if 
you  have  a  stomach.  Y'ou've  languished  with  the  girls ; 
you  shall  have  your  chance  to  drink  with  Fran9ois  Bigot. 
Xow,  if  you  dare,  when  we  have  drunk  to  the  first  cock- 
crow, should  vou  be  still  on  vour  feet,  vou'll  liu'ht  some 
one  among  us,  first  giving  ample  cause." 

"  I  hope,  your  excellency,"  I  replied,  with  a  touch  of 
vanity,  "  I  have  still  some  stomach  and  a  wrist.  I  will 
drink  to  cockcrow,  if  you  will.  And  if  my  sword  prove 
the  stronger,  what?" 

"There's  the  point,"  he  said.  "Your  Englishman 
loves  not  fighting  for  fighting's  sake,  Doltaire;  he  must 
have  bonbons  for  it.  Well,  see  :  if  your  sword  and  stom- 
ach prove  the  stronger,  you  shall  go  your  ways  to  where 
vou  will.     Voila  I  " 

If  I  could  but  have  seen  a  bare  portion  of  the  crafti- 
ness of  this  pair  of  devil's  artisans!  They  both  had  ends 
to  serve  in  working  ill  to  me,  and  neither  was  content 
that  I  should  be  shut  awav  in  the  citadel,  and  no  more. 


V\\ 

tr 

fio 

ci 


TIIK  MASTEIl  OF  THE  KING'S  MAGAZINE. 


21 


7> 


iman 
must 
!tom- 


There  was  a  deoper  game  playing.  I  give  thoiu  their  tliie  : 
the  trap  was  skilful,  and  in  IhoHe  times,  with  great  things 
at  stake,  strategy  took  the  place  of  open  lighting  here  and 
there.  For  Bigot  I  was  to  bo  a  weapon  against  another; 
for  Doltaire,  against  mvself. 

What  a  gnJl  they  must  h.ave  thought  nie  !  I  nught 
have  known  that,  with  my  lost  papers  on  the  way  to 
l''rance,  they  must  hold  me  tight  here  till  I  had  been 
tried,  nor  permit  mc  to  escape.  JUit  I  was  sick  of  doing 
fiothing,  thinking  with  horror  on  a  long  winter  in  the 
citadel,  and  I  caught  at  the  least  straw  of  freedom. 

"  Captain  Moray  will  like  to  spend  a  couple  of  hours 
at  his  lodgings  before  he  joins  us  at  the  palace,"  the  In- 
lendant  said,  and  with  a  nod  to  me  he  turned  to  his 
coachman.  The  horses  wheeled,  and  in  a  moment  the 
great  doors  opened,  and  he  had  passed  inside  to  applause, 
thougli  here  and  there  among  the  crowd  was  heard  a  hiss, 
for  the  Scarlet  Woman  had  made  an  impression.  Tha 
Intendant's  men  essayed  to  trace  these  noises,  but  found 
no  one.  Looking  again  to  the  Heights,  1  saw  that  the 
woman  had  gone.  Doltaire  noted  my  glance  and  the 
inquiry  in  my  face,  and  he  said  : 

"  Some  bad  fighting  hours  with  the  Intendant  at 
Chateau  Bigot,  and  then  a  fever,  l)ringing  a  kind  of 
madness  :  so  the  story  creeps  about,  as  told  by  Jiigot's 
enemies." 

Just  at  this  point  I  felt  a  man  hustle  mo  as  he 
passed.  One  of  the  soldiers  made  a  thrust  at  him,  aiul 
lie  turned  round.  I  caught  his  eye,  aiul  it  Hashed  some- 
thins:  to  me.  It  was  Voban  the  barber,  who  had  shaved 
me  every  day  for  months  when  I  first  came,  while  my 
arm  was  stilf  from  a  wound  got  fighting  the  French  on 
tlie  Ohio.  It  was  quite  a  year  since  I  had  met  him,  and 
I  was  struck  by  the  change  in  his  face.  It  had  grown 
nnich  older ;  its  roundness  was  gone.  We  had  had  many 
3 


22 


TIIV:   SEATS  OF   THE  MKIIITY. 


a  talk  togctlicr,  lie  li('l[)inf,'  u\v  witli  I'^reiicli,  1  listening 
to  the  tales  of  liis  early  life  in  France,  and  to  the  later  tale 
of  a  liiunble  love,  and  of  the  lioine  whieh  ho  was  fitting 
lip  for  his  Mathilde,  a  peasant  girl  of  nineh  beauty  I  was 
told,  but  whom  I  had  never  seen.  I  remembered  at  tluit 
moment,  as  lie  stood  in  the  crowd  looking  at  me,  the 
piles  of  linen  whieh  he  had  bought  at  Ste.  Anne  do 
Beaupre,  and  the  silver  pitcher  which  his  grandfather 
had  got  from  tlic  Due  do  Valois  for  an  act  of  merit. 
Many  a  time  we  had  discussed  the  i)itcher  and  the  deed 
and  fingered  the  linen,  now  talking  in  French,  now  in 
Englisli  ;  for  in  France,  years  before,  he  had  been  a  valet 
to  an  Kn<j:lish  otlicer  at  Kin<>:  I.ouis's  court.  But  my 
suri)rise  had  been  great  when  I  learned  that  this  Eng- 
lish jrentleman  was  no  other  than  the  best  friend  I  over 
had,  next  to  my  parents  and  my  grandfather.  Voban  was 
bound  to  Sir  John  (Jodric  by  as  strong  ties  of  alfection 
as  I.  What  was  more,  by  a  secret  letter  I  had  sent  to 
j\[r.  George  Washington,  who  was  then  as  good  a  Briton 
as  myself,  I  had  been  able  to  have  my  barber's  young 
brother,  a  prisoner  of  war,  set  free. 

I  felt  that  he  had  something  to  say  to  me  now ;  but 
he  turned  away  and  disappeared  among  the  crowd.  I 
might  have  had  some  clew  if  I  had  known  that  ho  had 
been  crouched  behind  the  In^endant's  carriage  while  I 
was  being  bidden  to  the  supper.  I  did  not  guess  then 
that  there  was  anytliing  between  him  and  the  Scarlet 
Woman  who  railed  at  liii^ot. 

In  a  little  while  I  was  at  my  lodgings,  soldiers  posted 
at  mv  door  and  one  in  my  room.  Doltaire  had  cfone  to 
his  own  quarters  promihing  to  call  for  me  within  two 
hours.  There  was  little  for  me  to  do  but  to  put  in  a 
bag  the  fewest  necessaries,  to  roll  up  my  heavy  cloak,  to 
stow  safely  my  pipes  and  two  goodly  packets  of  tobacco, 
which  were  to  bo  my  cliiefest   solace   for  many  a  long 


TIIK   MASTKU   OF  TIIK   K IXC'S   MACAZIN'K. 


2n 


stoning 
,tor  tale 

fitting 
y  I  wjis 
at  that 
no,  tlio 
nne  do 
(ll'atlier 

merit, 
le  dood 
now  in 

a  valot 
lUit  my 
id  Kng- 
l  I  ever 
ban  was 
.lYoctiou 
sent  to 

Briton 

young 

iw ;  but 
wd.  I 
ho  had 
rt-hile  I 
Iss  then 
Scarlet 

posted 
!;one  to 
lin  two 
it  in  a 
|oak,  to 

)bacco, 
la  long 


day,  and  to  write  som;-  lotters — one  to  (iovornor  Dinwid- 
dle, one  to  Major  W  asliington,  one  to  my  partner  in 
Virginia,  telling  them  my  fresh  misfortunes,  aiul  begging 
them  to  send  mo  money,  which,  however  useless  in  my 
captivity,  would  be  important  in  my  fight  for  life  and 
freedom.  1  did  not  write  intimately  of  my  state,  for  1 
was  not  sure  my  letters  would  ever  pass  outside  Quebec. 
There  were  only  two  men  I  could  trust  to  do  the  thing. 
One  was  a  fellow-countryman,  Clark,  a  ship-carpenter, 
and  something  of  a  rullian,  who,  lo  save  his  neck  and  to 
sptire  his  wife  and  child,  had  turned  Catholic,  but  who 
hated  all  Frenchmen  barbarously  at  heart,  renuMnbering 
two  of  his  bairns  butchered  before  his  eyes.  The  other 
was  Voban.  1  knew  that  though  \'oban  might  not  act  he 
would  not  betray  me.  But  how  to  reach  either  of  them? 
It  was  clear  that  1  must  bide  my  chances. 

One  other  letter  I  wrote,  brief  but  vital,  in  which  I 
begged  the  sweetest  girl  in  the  world  not  to  have  un- 
easiness because  of  me  ;  that  I  trusted  to  my  star  and  to 
my  innocence  to  convince  my  judges ;  and  begging  lier, 
if  she  could,  to  send  me  a  line  at  the  citadel.  I  told  her 
I  knew  well  how  hard  it  all  would  be,  for  her  mother  and 
her  father  would  not  now  look  u})on  my  love  with  favour. 
But  I  trusted  everything  to  time  and  Providence. 

I  sealed  my  letters,  put  them  iii  my  ])ocket,  and  sat 
down  to  smoke  and  think  while  T  waited  for  Doltaire. 
To  the  soldier  on  duty  whom  I  did  not  notice  at  first 
I  now  ofTered  a  pipe  and  a  glass  of  wine,  whicdi  he  ac- 
cepted rather  gruffly,  but  enjoyed,  if  I  might  judge  by 
his  devotion  to  them. 

By-and-bye,  without  imy  relevancy  at  all,  he  said 
abruptly,  "  If  a  little  sooner  she  had  come — aho  !  " 

For  a  moment  I  could  not  think  what  he  meant ;  but 
soon  I  saw. 

"  The  palace  would  have  been  burned  if  the  girl  in 


94 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MKJIITV. 


Hcarlot  Imd  ('(>mv  sooiior — clj  ? ''  I  ankccl.  "  Slio  would 
Imve  ur<,'('(l  tlio  pcoplo  on  ?  " 

"  And  Ki^n)t  l)iiriit  too,  iiiaybi',"  1h'  Jiiisworcd. 

"  Firu  and  dcatli— oh  ?  " 

I  olTcivd  liiiM  aiiotlicr  pipeful  of  tobacco.  TTo  looked 
doul)tful,  hut  accc})tL'd. 

"Aho!  And  that  Vo))an,  he  woidd  ha.V(!  had  hi.s 
hand  in,"  lie  <^n'o\vdc(l. 

I  hcf^uii  to  get  inoro  lii:;ht. 

"  Siic  was  shut  up  jit  Chateau  Bigot — hand  of  iron 
and  lock  of  steel — who  knows  the  rest?  Hut  \'oban 
was  for  always,"  no  added  presently. 

'J'he  thing  was  clear.  'I'he  Scarlet  Woman  was  ^^a- 
thilde.  So  here  was  the  end  of  N'ohan's  little  romance — 
of  the  fine  linen  from  Ste.  Anne  de  lieaupre  aiul  the 
silver  pitcher  for  the  wedding  wine.  1  saw,  or  felt,  that 
in  Voban  1  might  lind  now  a  confederate,  if  I  ]»ut  my 
hard  case  on  Bigot's  shoulders. 

"  I  can't  see  why  she  stayed  with  l)igot,"  I  said  ten- 
tatively. 

"  Break  the  dog's  leg,  it  can't  go  hunting  bones 
— inais,  )io)i  !     Holy,  how  stupid  are  you  English  !  " 

"Why  doesn't  the  Intendant  lock  her  up  now? 
She's  dangerous  to  him  !  You  remember  what  she 
said  ?  " 

"  Toinierre,  you  shall  see  to-morrow,"  he  answered  ; 
"  now  all  the  shec})  go  bleating  with  the  bell,  liigot — 
Bigot — Bigot — there  is  iiothing  but  Bigot !  J^ut,  })isli ! 
Vaudreuil  the  (Jovernor  is  the  great  man,  and  .Montcalm, 
aho  !  son  oi  Mahomet  I  You  shall  see.  Now  they  dance 
to  l^igot's  whistling;  he  will  lock  her  safe  enough  to- 
morrow,  'less  some  one  steps  in  to  help  her.  Before 
ta-night  she  never  spoke  of  him  before  the  world — but 
a  poor  daft  thing,  going  about  all  sad  and  wild.  She 
missed  her  chance  to-night — aho  !  " 


t( 


f( 


TlIK   MASTEIl   OF  TIIK   KIN'(J'S   MACAZIXE. 


2n 


hones 


•ercd  ; 
igot— 


' 


"  Wliynro  you  not  with  Montculin's  sol(li(>rsV"  I  uskcd. 
♦'  You  liki?  l»iiM  Ix'ttcr." 

"  I  was  with  liiiii,  Imt  my  time  was  out,  and  I  left  hiiu 
for  Hiirot.  Pish!  I  h-ft  liirn  for  Hi^jot,  for  the  luilitia!" 
lie  raisi'd  Ids  thumb  to  Ins  nose,  and  spread  out  his  lln- 
^WA.  Again  ligiit  dawned  on  mo.  He  was  slill  with  tht* 
(lovornor  in  all  fact,  though  soldiering  for  iiigot — a  soi't 
of  watch  upon  the  Inteiulaiit. 

I  saw  my  chaiu-e.  If  I  coidd  hut  induce  this  fellow  to 
fetch  mu  Vohan  I  Thei-e  was  yet  an  hour  Ix'fore  I  was  to 
go  to  the  intendaiu;o.  « 

I  called  up  what  looks  of  candour  I  could  and  told 
him  hluntly  that  I  wdshed  \'ohan  to  heai'  a  letter  for  me 
to  the  Scigiu'ur  Duvarney's.  At  that  he  cocked  his  ear 
and  shook  his  bushy  heail,  liercely  stroking  his  mustaches. 

I  kiu'w  that  r  should  stake  something  if  I  said  it  was 
a  letter  for  Mademoiselle  Duvarney,  but  I  knew  also  that 
if  he  was  still  the  (Jovernor's  nuin  in  Higot's  pay  he  would 
undoi'stand  the  Seigneur's  relations  with  the  (Jovernor. 
And  a  woman  in  the  case  with  a  soldier — that  would 
count  for  sonu'thing.  So  I  said  it  was  for  her.  Besidiss, 
I  had  no  other  resource  but  to  make  a  friend  among  my 
euenues  if  I  could,  while  yet  there  was  a  (duiuce. 

It  was  like  a  load  lifted  from  nu^  when  I  saw  his  mouth 
aii.l  eyes  open  wide  in  a  big  soundless  laugh,  which  cjime 
to  an  end  with  a  voiceless  (i/tn  !  I  gave  him  another  tum- 
hU'r  of  wine,  liefore  he  took  it,  he  made  a  wide  mouth 
at  me  again,  and  slai)ped  his  leg.  After  drink'ng,  he 
said,  '''Poom — what  good  ?  They'i-e  going  to  hang  you 
for  a  spy." 

"  That  rope's  not  ready  yet,"  I  answered.  "  Til  tie  a 
l)retty  knot  in  another  string  first,  I  trust." 

"Damned  if  you  haven't  spirit  I  "  said  he.  "That 
Seigneur  Duvarney,  I  know  him;  and  I  know  his  son  the 
ensign — ^uhiing,  what  saltpetre  is  he  I    And  the  nui'm'selle 


20 


TIIH  SKATS  OK  TIIK   MKIIITY 


— cxcollcjit,  excellent ;  aiul  ii  fiice,  huc'm  a  fju-e,  aiul  a  seat 
like  Iceehi'M  in  the  saddle.  And  you  a  Hiitish  ofT.eer 
mewed  up  to  kick  your  heels  till  ;;all(»\VH  day!     So  droll, 


inv  dear 


»  " 


(( 


(( 


Hut  will  you  fetch  Vohan?"  I  a.ske(l. 

To  trim  your  hair  against  the  8Ui)pcr  to-iiiglit— eh, 


like  that?" 

As  lie  spoko  lie  pufTed  out  his  red  cheeks  with  wido 
boylike  eyes,  hurst  his  lips  in  another  soundless  laugh, 
and  laid  a  tinger  hesido  his  nose.  His  marvellous  inno- 
cence of  look  and  his  ])easa!it  openness  hid,  I  siiw,  gretit 
shrewdjiess  and  intelligence — an  admirable  man  for  \'au- 
dreuiPs  ])>irp()se,  as  admirable  for  mine.  I  knew  well 
that  if  I  had  tried  to  bribe  him  he  would  have  scouted 
me,  or  if  I  had  made  ii  motion  for  escape  he  would  have 
shot  me  olT-hand.  But  a  lady — that  appealed  to  him; 
and  that  she  was  the  Seigneur  Duvarr.ev's  dau<ditcr  did 
the  rest. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  I,  "  one  must  bo  well  appointed  in 
soul  and  body  when  one  sups  with  his  excellency  und 
!RIonsi(!ur  Doltaire." 

"Limed  inside  ano  chalked  outside,"  he  retorted  glee- 
fully. "  But  M'sieu'  Doltaire  needs  no  lime,  for  he  has 
no  soul.  Xo,  by  Sainte  Heloise!  The  good  (Jod  didn't 
make  him.  'JMie  devil  laughed,  and  that  laugh  grew  into 
!N['sieu'  Doltaire.  13ut  brave  ! — no  kicking  pulse  is  in  his 
body." 

"  You  will  send  for  Voban — now?"  I  asked  softly. 

lie  Avas  leaning  against  the  door  as  he  spoke.  He 
reached  and  put  the  tumbler  on  ji  shelf,  then  turned 
and  opened  the  door,  his  face  all  altered  to  a  grimness. 

"Attend  here,  Fiabrouk  !"  he  called  ;  and  on  the  soldier 
coming,  he  blurted  out  in  scorn,  "  Here's  this  English 
captain  can't  go  to  supper  without  Voban's  shears  to  snip 
him.      Go   fetch   him,  for  I'd    rather  hear  a   calf  in  a 


Sc 


CO 


th 


TIIK   MASTr.Il   nK  TIIK    KINti'S   M  VCi A/.IN'K.        27 


gloe- 

c  llJlS 

icln't 

into 

11  his 


He 

irned 

»klior 

glish 

snip 

in  a 


burn-yiinl    than    this   \vhiii,L,'-\vh;ifigiii;;   for  '  M'sicu'   N'o- 
ban ! ' " 

lie  niockod  my  accnit  in  tlic  hist  two  words,  so  tliat 
the  HoMicr  ^^rinncd,  iind  at  once  startcil  away.  Tlii'ii  lie 
sluit  the  (hior,  and  tiii-iicd  to  iiii'  ai^iiin,  and  said  more 
scrionsly  ,  "  IIow  hm^  havt^  we  before  Master  Devil 
eomes  V" — nu'iiniii;^'  Doltaire. 

"  At  least  an  hour,"  sai«l  I. 

"(iood,"  he  rejoined,  and  then  he  smoktMl  while  I  sat 
thinking. 

It  was  near  an  hour  b(>fore  we  heartl  footsteps  outside; 
then  came  a  knoek,  and  X'oban  was  shown  in. 

"(^uiek,  m'sieu',"  hi;  said.  ''  M'sieu'  is  almost  at  our 
heels." 

"This  k'tter,"  said  [,  "  to  :\rademoiselle  Duvarney," 
and  I  handi'd  four:  hers,  and  those  to  (Jovernor  Din- 
widdie,  to  Mr.  Washington,  and  to  my  })artner. 

lie  quiekly  \n\t  tliem  in  his  coat,  nodding.  The 
soldier — I  have  not  vet  mentioned  his  name — (Jabord, 
know  not  that  more  than  one  passed  into  Voban's 
hands. 

"  OtT  with  your  coat,  m'sieu\"  said  \'^ol)an,  whipping 
out  his  shears,  tossing  liis  cap  aside,  and  rolling  down  his 
apron.     "  M'sieu'  is  here." 

I  had  olT  my  coat,  was  in  a  chair  in  a  twinkling,  and 
he  was  clipj)ing  softly  at  me  as  Doltaire's  h  ind  turned  the 
handle  of  the  door. 

"  Beware — to-night !  "  \'oban  whispered. 

"  Come  to  me  in  the  prison,"  said  I.  "  Hemend)er 
your  brother !  " 

His  lips  twitched.  "  M'sieu',  I  will  if  I  can."  This 
he  said  in  my  ear  as  Doltaire  entered  and  came  for- 
ward. 

"  Upon  my  life  I"  Doltaire  broke  out.  "  These  Eng- 
lish gallants !     They  go  to  prison  curled  and  musked  by 


SCARBOROUGH   TOWNSHIP 
PUBLIC    LIBRARY 


28 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGnTY. 


Voban.  Vohan — a  name  from  the  court  of  tlie  King,  and 
it  garnishes  a  barber  !     Who  culled  yoii,  Voban  ?  " 

"  My  mother,  with  the  cure's  help,  m'sieu'." 

Doltaire  paused,  with  a  pinch  of  snutT  at  his  nose,  and 
replied  lazily,  "  I  did  not  say  '  Who  called  you  Vuban?  ' 
Voban,  but  who  called  you  here,  Voban  ?  " 

I  spoke  up  testily  then  of  })urpose :  "  What  would 
you  have,  monsieur  ?  The  citadel  has  better  butchers 
than  barbers.     I  sent  for  him," 

lie  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  came  over  to  Voban. 
"Turn  round,  my  Voban,"  he  said.  ^' Vuban — and  such 
a  figure  !  a  knee,  a  back  like  that ! " 

Then,  while  my  heart  stood  still,  he  put  forth  a  finger 
and  touched  the  barber  on  the  chest.  If  he  should  touch 
the  letters !  I  was  ready  to  seize  them — but  would  that 
save  them?  Twice,  thrice,  the  finger  prodded  Voban's 
breast,  as  if  to  add  an  emphasis  to  his  words.  "  In  Quebec 
you  are  misplaced.  Monsieur  le  Voban.  Once  a  wasp  got 
into  a  honeycomb  and  died." 

I  knew  he  was  hinting  at  the  barber's  resentment  of 
the  poor  Mathilde's  fate.  Something  strange  and  devilish 
leaped  into  the  man's  eyes,  and  he  broke  out  bitterly, 

"  A  honey-bee  got  into  a  nest  of  wasps — and  died." 

I  thought  of  the  Scarlet  Woman  on  the  hill. 

Voban  looked  for  a  moment  as  if  he  might  do  some 
wild  thing,  llis  spirit,  his  devilry,  pleased  Doltaire,  and 
he  laughed.  "  Who  would  have  thought  our  Voban  had 
such  wit  ?  Tl;o  trade  of  barber  is  double-edged,  liazors 
should  be  in  fashion  at  Versailles." 

Then  he  snt  down,  while  Vobun  made  a  pretty  show 
of  touching  oif  my  person.  A  few  minutes  passed  so,  in 
which  the  pealing  of  bells,  the  shouting  of  the  people, 
the  beating  of  drums,  and  the  calling  of  bugles  came  lo 
us  clearly. 

A  half  hour  afterwards,  on  our  way  to  the  lutendant's 


THE   MASTER  OF  TITE   KING'S  :\rAGAZIXE. 


29 


• 

some 
5,  iiml 
II  bad 
tazors 

I  show 
30,  in 
bple, 
le  io 

ant's 


palace,  we  heard  the  Bonediotiis  clianted  in  the  Church 
of  the  Kecollets,  as  we  passed — hundreds  kneehng  outsick^ 
and  responding  to  tlie  chant  sung  within  : 

"  Thai  ire  s/ioidd  be  saved  from  our  enemies,  and  from 
the  hands  of  all  that  hate  us.'"' 

At  tlie  corner  of  a  building  which  we  passed,  a  little 
away  from  the  crowd,  I  saw  a  solitary  cloaked  figure. 
The  words  of  the  chant,  following  us,  I  could  hear  dis- 
tinctly : 

"  yyi((t  ?ce,  hein(j  delivered  out  of  the  haiids  of  oar  ene- 
mies, miglit  serve  Him  without  fear. ''^ 

And  then,  from  the  sliadowcd  corner  came  in  a  high, 
melancholy  voice  the  words  : 

"  To  (jive  light  to  tliem  that  sit  in  darliicss  and  in  tlie 
shadow  of  death,  and  to  guide  our  feet  into  the  wag  of 
peace.'''' 

Looking  closer,  I  saw  it  was  Mathilde. 

Doltaire  smiled  as  I  turned  and  begged  a  moment's 
time  to  speak  to  her. 

•■'  To  pray  with  the  lost  angel  and  sup  with  the  In- 
tendant,  all  in  one  night — a  liberal  taste,  monsieur;  but 
who  shall  stay  the  good  Samaritan  I" 

They  stood  a  little  distance  away,  and  I  went  over  to 
her  and  said,  "  Mademoiselle — Mathilde,  do  you  not  know 


me 


V  " 


Her  abstracted  eye  fired  up,  as  there  ran  to  her  brain 
some  little  sprite  out  of  the  House  of  Memory  and  told 
her  who  I  was. 

"  Tliere  were  two  lovers  in  the  world,"  she  said  ;  "  the 
^[othor  of  God  forgot  them,  and  the  devil  came.  I  am 
the  Scarlet  Woman,"  she  went  on  ;  "  I  made  this  red  robe 
from  the  curtains  of  Hell " 

Poor  soul!  My'own  trouble  seeme<I  then  as  a  speck 
among  the  stars  to  hers.  I  took  her  hand  and  held  it, 
saying  again, "  Do  you  not  know  me  ?    Think,  Mathilde ! " 


30 


TnE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


I  was  not  sure  that  slie  had  ever  seen  me,  to  know  me, 
but  I  tlionght  it  possible ;  for,  as  a  hostage,  I  had  been 
much  noticed  in  (Quebec,  and  Voban  had,  no  doubt,  pointed 
me  out  to  her.  Light  leaped  from  her  black  eye,  and  then 
she  said,  putting  her  finger  on  her  lips,  "  Tell  all  the 
lovers  to  hide.     1  have  seen  a  hundred  Fraiu;ois  Biiiots." 

I  looked  at  her,  saying  nothing— I  knew  not  what  to 
say.  Presently  her  eye  steadied  to  mine,  and  her  intellect 
rallied.  "  You  are  a  prisoner,  too,"  she  said  ;  "  but  they 
will  not  kill  you  :  they  will  keep  you  till  the  ring  of  fire 
grows  in  your  head,  and  then  you  will  mak  your  scarlet 
robe,  and  go  out,  but  you  will  never  find  It — never.  God 
hid  first,  and  then  It  hides.  ...  It  hides,  that  which  you 
lost — It  hides,  and  you  can  not  find  It  again.  Y^ou  go 
hunting,  hunting,  but  you  can  not  find  It." 

My  heart  was  pinched  with  pain.  I  understood  her. 
She  dia  not  know  her  lover  now  at  all.  If  Alixe  and  her 
mother  at  the  ]Manor  could  but  care  for  her,  I  thought. 
But, alas  !  what  could  I  do?  It  were  useless  to  ask  her  to 
go  to  the  Manor;  she  would  not  understand. 

Perhaps  there  come  to  the  disordered  mind  flashes  of 
insight,  illuminations  and  divinations,  deeper  than  are 
given  to  the  sane,  for  she  suddenly  said  in  a  whisper, 
touching  me  with  a  nervous  finger,  "  I  will  go  and  tell 
her  where  to  hide.  They  shall  not  find  her.  I  know  the 
woodpath  to  the  Manor.  Hush  !  she  shall  own  all  I  have 
— except  the  scarlet  robe.  She  showed  me  where  the 
May-apples  grew.  Go"— she  pushed  me  gently  away — 
"go  to  your  prison,  nnd  pray  to  God.  l^ut  you  can  not 
kill  Francois  Bigot — he  is  a  devil."  Then  she  thrust 
into  my  hands  a  little  wooden  cross,  which  she  took  from 
many  others  at  her  girdle.  "  If  you  wear  that  the  ring  of 
fire  will  not  grow,"  she  said.  "  I  will  go  by  the  wood- 
path,  and  give  her  one,  too.  She  shall  live  with  me :  I 
will  spread  the  balsam  branches  and  stir  the  fire.     She 


ler. 


I 


THE  \\AGER  AND  THE  SWORD. 


81 


sliall  1)0  safe.  IIusli  I  (!o,  go  softly,  for  tlu'ir  wicked  eyes 
lire  everywhere,  the  were-wolves  I  " 

She  i)iit  lier  lingers  on  my  lips  for  an  instant,  and 
then,  turning,  stole  softly  away  towards  the  St.  Charles 
Kiver. 

Doltaire's  mockery  brought  me  back  to  myself. 

"  So  much  for  the  beads  of  the  addled ;  now  for  the 
bowls  of  sinful  man,"  said  he. 


III. 


THE   WACiKR   AND   THE   SWOIID. 

As  I  entered  the  Intendant's  palace  with  Doltairc  I 
had  a  singular  feeling  of  elation,  ^[y  spirits  rose  unac- 
countably, and  I  felt  as  though  it  were  a  fete  night,  and 
the  day's  duty  over,  the  hour  of  play  was  come.  1  must 
needs  have  felt  ashamecl  of  it  then,  aiul  now,  were  I 
not  sure  it  was  some  unbidden  operation  of  the  senses. 
;>[aybe  a  merciful  Spirit  sees  how,  left  alone,  we  should 
have  stumbled  and  lost  ourselves  in  oar  own  gloom,  and 
so  gives  us  a  new  temper  fitted  to  our  needs.  1  remember 
that  at  the  great  door  I  turned  back  and  smiled  upon  the 
ruined  granary,  and  sniffed  the  air  laden  with  the  scent 
of  burnt  corn — the  people's  bread  ;  that  I  saw  old  men 
and  women  who  could  not  be  moved  l)v  news  of  victorv, 
shaking  with  cold,  even  beside  this  vast  furnace,  and 
peevishly  babbling  of  their  hunger,  and  I  did  not  say, 
"Poor  souls!  "  that  for  a  time  the  power  to  feel  my  own 
misfortunes  seemed  gone,  and  a  hard,  light  indifference 
came  on  me. 

For  it  is  true  I  came  into  the  great  dining-hall,  and 
looked  upon  the  long  loaded  table,  with  its  hundred  can- 
dles, its  flagous  and  pitchers  of  wine,  and  on  the  faces  of 


32 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


so  many  idlo,  cureless  gentleniou  bid  to  a  earou.so,  with  a 
iiianiKT,  J  hclieve,  as  rocklcss  and  jaunty  as  their  own. 
And  J  kept  it  up,  tliough  I  saw  it  was  not  what  they 
liad  looked  for.  I  did  not  at  onco  know  wlu)  was  there, 
but  presently,  at  a  dislaneo  from  me,  I  saw  the  faeo  of 
Juste  Duvarncv,  tlie  hrotlicr  of  niv  sweet  Alixe,  a  man 
of  but  twenty  or  so,  wlio  liad  a  name  for  wildness,  for  no 
badness  tluit  I  ever  heard  of,  and  for  a  llcM-y  temper.  He 
was  in  tlie  service  of  the  (lovernor,  an  ensign.  IIo  had 
been  little  at  home  since  I  had  come  to  Quebec,  having 


beei 


)]( 


th 


th 


of  th 


en  employed  u[)  to  tlio  past  year  m  tne  service  ol  tlio 
Governor  of  MontreaL  We  bowed,  but  lie  made  no  mo- 
tion to  come  to  me,  an<l  the  Intendant  engaged  me  almost 
at  once  in  gossip  of  the  town ;  suddenly,  however,  diverg- 
ing u})on  some  questions  of  public  tactics  and  civic  gov- 
ernment. JIo  much  surprised  me,  for  though  I  knew  him 
brave  and  able,  I  had  never  thought  of  him  save  as  the 
adroit  politician  and  servant  of  the  King,  the  tyrant  and 
the  libertine.  I  might  have  known  by  that  very  scene  a 
few  hours  before  that  he  had  a  wide,  deep  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  and  despised  it ;  unlike  Doltaire,  who  had 
a  keener  mind,  was  more  refined  even  in  wickedness,  and, 
knowing  the  world,  laughed  at  it  more  than  he  despised 
it,  which  was  the  sign  of  the  greater  mind.  And  indeed, 
in  spite  of  all  the  causes  I  had  to  hate  Doltaire,  it  is  but 
just  to  say  he  had  by  nature  all  the  large  gifts — misused 
and  disordered  as  they  were.  He  was  the  product  of  his 
age ;  having  no  real  moral  sense,  living  life  wantonly, 
making  his  own  law  of  right  or  wrong.  As  a  lad,  I  was 
taught  to  think  the  evil  person  carried  evil  in  his  face,  re- 
pelling the  healthy  mind  ;  but  long  ago  I  found  that  this 
was  error.  I  had  no  reason  to  admire  Doltaire,  and  yet 
to  this  hour  his  handsome  face,  with  its  shadows  and 
shifting  lights,  haunts  me,  charms  me.  The  thought 
came  to  me  as  I  talked  with  the  Intendant,  and  I  looked 


light 
^ked 


THE  WAGER  AND  THE  SWORD. 


33 


round  the  room.  Some  present  were  of  eoiirsc  calibre — 
biislirunging  sons  of  seigneurs  and  petty  nobles,  chishing 
and  i)rofane,  and  sonietliing  barbarous  ;  but  most  hail, 
gifts  of  person  and  speech,  and  all  seemed  eaj)able. 

My  spirits  continued  high.  I  sprang  alertly  to  meet 
wit  and  gossip),  my  mind  ran  nimbly  hvvo  and  there,  I 
Tilled  the  role  of  honoured  guest.  ]^)Ut  when  came  the 
table  and  wine, .a  change  befell  me.  From  the  lirst  dro}) 
I  drank,  my  >'j]>irits  sulTered  a  decline.  On  one  side  the 
Intendant  rallied  me,  on  the  other  Doltaire.  1  ate  on, 
drank  on;  but  while  smiling  bv  the  force  of  will,  I  irrew 
graver  little  by  little.  Yet  it  was  a  gravity  whi(;h  had  no 
ajiparent  motive,  for  I  was  not  thinking  of  my  troubles, 
not  even  of  the  night's  stake  and  the  jjossiblc  end  of  it 
all;  simply  a  sort  of  gray  coloia-  of  the  mind,  a  stillness 
in  the  nerves,  a  general  seriousness  of  the  senses.  1  dj-ank, 
and  the  wine  did  not  affect  me,  while  voices  got  loud  ami 
louder,  and  glasses  rang,  and  spurs  rattled  on  shuffling 
heels,  and  a  scabbard  clanged  on  a  chair.  I  seemed  to 
feel  and  know  it  all  in  some  far-olf  way,  but  I  was  not 
touched  by  the  spirit  of  it,  was  not  a  part  of  it.  1  watched 
the  reddened  cheeks  and  loose  scorching  mouths  around 
me  with  a  sort  of  distant  curiosity,  and  the  ribald  jests 
flunsr  riojht  and  left  struck  me  not  at  all  acutely.  It  was 
as  if  I  were  reading  a  Book  of  Bacchus.  I  draidv  on  even- 
ly, not  doggedly,  and  ansv/ered  jest  for  jest  without  a  hot 
breath  of  drunkenness.  I  looked  several  times  at  Juste 
Duvarney,  who  sat  not  far  away,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
table,  behind  a  grand  piece  of  silver  filled  with  October 
roses.  He  was  drinking  hard,  and  Doltaire,  sitting  beside 
him,  kept  him  at  it.  At  last  the  silver  piece  was  shifted, 
and  he  and  I  could  see  each  other  fairly.  Xow  and  then 
Doltaire  spoke  across  to  me,  but  somehow  no  word  passed 
between  Duvarney  and  myself. 

Suddenly,  as  if  by  magic — I  know  it  was  preconcerted 


34 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   Mir.IITV. 


— tlic  talk  turnctl  on  the  events  of  the  evening  and  on  the 
defeat  of  the  JJritish.  Then,  too,  I  began  to  be  myself 
again,  and  a  sense  of  my  i)osition  grew  upon  me.  I  had 
been  withdrawn  from  all  real  feeling  and  living  for  hours, 
but  1  believe  that  same  suspension  was  my  salvation.  For 
wilh  every  man  present  deeply  gone  in  li(|U()r  round  me 
— every  num  save  Doltaire — I  was  sane  and  steady,  set- 
tling into  a  state  of  great  alertness,  determined  on  escape, 
it  that  could  be,  and  bent  on  tiirning  every  chance  to  serve 
my  purposes. 

^I'ow  and  again  I  caught  my  own  name  mentioned 
with  a  sneer,  then  with  remarks  of  surprise,  then  with  in- 
solent laughter.  I  saw  it  all.  Uefore  dinner  some  of  the 
revellers  had  been  told  of  tlie  new  charge  against  me,  and, 
by  instruction,  had  kept  it  till  the  inllamnuible  moment. 
Then  the  why  and  wherefore  of  my  presence  at  this  sup- 
per being  in  the  lui/.ard,  the  stake,  as  a  wicked  jest  of 
Bigot's,  was  mentioned.  I  couhi  see  the  llame  grow  inch 
by  inch,  fed  by  the  Intendant  and  J)oltaire,  whose  hateful 
final  move  I  was  yet  to  see.  For  one  instant  I  had  a  sort 
of  fear,  for  I  was  now  sure  they  meant  I  should  not  leave 
the  room  alive ;  but  anon  I  felt  a  river  of  fiery  anger  flow 
through  me,  rousing  me,  making  me  loathe  the  faces  of 
them  jdl.  Yet  not  all,  for  in  one  pale  face,  with  dark, 
brilliant  eyes,  I  saw  the  looks  of  my  ilower  of  the  world  : 
the  colour  of  her  hair  in  his,  the  clearness  of  the  brow, 
the  poise  of  the  head — how  handsome  he  was  ! — the  light, 
springing  step,  like  a  deer  on  the  sod  of  June.  I  call  to 
mind  when  I  first  saw  him.  lie  was  sitting  in  a  Avindow 
of  the  ^[anor,  just  after  he  had  come  from  jlontreal,  play- 
ing a  violin  which  had  once  belonged  to  I)e  Casson,  the 
famous  priest  whose  athletic  power  and  sweet  spirit  en- 
deared him  to  New  France.  I  lis  fresh  cheek  was  bent  to 
the  brown,  delicate  w^ood,  and  he  was  playing  to  his  sister 
the  air  of  the  undying  chanson,  "  Je  vais  mourir  pour  ma 


I 


THE  WAOER  AXD  THE  SWOUD. 


(J5 


I  on  tlio 

myself 

I  had 

I'  hours, 

n.    For 

111(1  me 

(iv,  set- 

esc{i])e, 

to  serve 

iilioned 
vith  in- 
I  of  the 
le,  and, 
loment. 
is  sup- 
jest  of 
w  inch 
hateful 
a  sort 
t  leave 
r  flow 
ces  of 
dark, 
rvorld  : 
brow, 
light, 
all  to 
ndow 
play- 
|i,  the 
t  en- 
nt  to 
ister 
r  ma 


belle  reinc."  I  loved  the  look  of  his  fare,  like  that  of  a 
young  Apollo,  oi)en,  sweet,  and  l)old,  all  his  body  haviiig 
the  epic  strength  of  life.  I  wished  that  I  might  have  him 
near  mo  as  a  comrade,  for  out  of  my  hard  experience  I 
could  teach  him  much,  and  out  of  his  youth  he  could 
soften  my  blunt  nature,  by  comradeship  making  llexuous 
the  hard  and  ungenial. 

1  went  on  talking  to  the  Intendant,  while  some  of  the 
guests  rose  and  scattered  about  the  rooms,  at  tables,  to 
play  ])ic(piet,  the  jesting  on  our  cause  and  the  scorn  of 
myself  abating  not  at  all.  1  would  not  have  it  thought 
that  anything  was  opeidy  coarse  or  brutal;  it  was  all 
by  innuendo,  and  brow-lifting,  and  maddening,  allusive 
phrases  such  as  it  is  thought  tit  for  gentlefolk  to  use  in- 
stead of  open  charge.  There  was  insult  in  a  smile,  con- 
tempt in  the  turn  of  a  shoulder,  challenge  in  the  llicking 
of  a  handkerchief.  A\'ith  great  pleasure  1  could  have 
wrung  thoir  noses  one  by  one,  and  afterwards  have  met 
them,  tossing  sword-})oints,  in  the  same  order.  I  wonder 
now  that  I  did  not  tell  them  so,  for  I  was  ever  hasty ;  but 
my  brain  was  clear  that  night,  and  I  held  myself  in  due 
check,  letting  each  move  come  from  my  enemies.  There 
was  no  reason  whv  I  should  have  been  at  this  wild  feast 
at  all,  I,  a  prisoner  charged  with  being  a  spy,  save  be- 
cause of  some  plot  through  which  fresh  suffering  should 
come  to  mc  and  some  one  else  be  benefited — though  how 
that  miglit  be  I  could  not  guess  at  first. 

But  soon  I  understood  everything.  Presently  I  heard 
a  young  gentleman  say  to  Duvarney  over  my  shoulder : 

"  Eating  comfits  and  holding  yarn  —  that  was  his 
doing  at  your  manor  when  Doltaire  came  hunting 
him." 

"  He  has  dined  at  your  table,  Lancy,"  broke  out  Du- 
varney hotly. 

"  But  never  with  our  ladies,"  was  the  biting  answer. 


30 


TIIR  SEATS  OF   TUK  MIGHTY. 


"  Should  prisoners  make  coiulitions?"  was  tlie  sharp, 
insolent  retort. 

The  insult  was  conspicuous,  and  trouble  might  have 
followed,  but  that  Doltairo  came  between  them,  shifting 
the  attack. 

"  I'risoners,  my  dear  Duvarm^v,"  said  he,  "are  most 
delicate  and  exactin<j^;  they  must  be  fed  on  wine  and 
milk.  It  is  an  easy  life,  and  hearts  grow  soft  for  them. 
—     Indeed,  it  is  most  sad  :  so  young  aiul  gal- 


As  thus 

hint;  in  speech,  too,  so  contiding!  And  if  we  babble  jdl 
our  doings  to  him,  think  you  he  takes  it  seriously?  No, 
no — so  gay  and  thoughtless,  there  is  a  thoroughfare  from 
ear  to  ear,  and  all's  lost  on  the  other  side.  Poor  simi)lo 
gentlenuin,  he  is  a  clairuant  on  our  courtesy,  a  knight 
without  a  sword,  a  guest  without  the  power  to  leave  us — 
he  shall  make  conditions,  he  shall  have  his  caprice.  La, 
la  I  my  dear  Duvarney  and  my  LaiU'y  I  " 

lie  spoke  in  a  clear,  provoking  tone,  putting  a  hand 
upon  the  shoulder  of  each  young  gentleman  as  he  talked. 
Ids  eyes  wandering  over  me  idly,  and  beyond  me.  1  saw 
that  he  was  now  sharpening  the  sickle  to  his  ollicc.  His 
next  words  made  this  more  plain  to  me : 

"And  if  a  lady  gives  a  farewell  sign  to  one  she  favours 
for  the  moment,  shall  not  the  prisoiier  take  it  as  his  own  ?  " 
(I  knew  he  was  recalling  Alixe's  farewell  gesture  to  me  at 
the  manor.)  "Who  shall  gainsay  our  peacock?  Shall 
the  irui'  -^i  cock?  The  golden  crumb  was  thrown  to  the 
guinea  cock,  but  that's  no  matter.  The  peacock  clatters 
of  the  crumb."  At  that  he  spoke  an  instant  in  Du- 
varney's  ear.  I  saw  the  lad's  face  flush,  and  he  looked  at 
me  angrily. 

Then  I  knew  his  object :  to  provoke  a  quarrel  between 
this  young  gentleman  and  myself,  which  might  lead  to 
evil  ends ;  and  the  Intendant's  share  in  the  conspiracy 
was  to  revenge  himself  upon  the  Seigneur  for  his  close 


(( 


: 


Till-:   WAflMU   AXn   THK  SWOKD. 


37 


[avours 
wnV^' 
me  at 
Shall 
to  the 
atters 
h  Du- 
vcd  at 

Itween 
lad  to 
piracy 
close 


friendshi})  with  the  (Jovenior.  If  .Iiistc  hiivanioy  were 
killed  in  the  dud  which  they  foresaw,  so  far  as  Doltaire 
was  concerned  1  was  out  of  the  countini,'  in  the  y«»un«^ 
lady's  si<jfht.  In  any  ease  my  life  was  of  no  account,  for 
I  was  sure  my  death  was  already  determined  on.  Vet  it 
seemed  stran<,'e  that  Doltaire  should  wisl;  me  dead,  for  lie 
had  reasons  for  keepin;^'  me  alive,  as  shall  he  seen. 

.Juste  Duvarney  liked  nu^  once,  I  knew,  but  still  he 
had  the  Freiuilnnan's  temper,  and  had  always  to  ar<,Mie 
down  his  bias  against  my  race  and  to  cherish  a  good 
heart  towards  me;  for  ho  was  young,  and  sensitive  to  tin; 
opinions  of  his  eoinrades.  I  can  not  express  what  misery 
possessed  me  when  I  saw  liini  leave  Doltaire,  and,  eomin<j^ 
to  me  where  I  stood  alone,  say — 

"  What  secrets  found  you  at  our  seigneury,  monsieur  V" 

I  understood  the  taunt — as  though  J  were  the  com- 
mon interrogation  mark,  the  abominable  Paul  J'ry.  I>ut 
I  held  my  wits  together. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  I,  "  I  found  tlie  secret  of  all  good 
life :  a  noble  kindness  to  the  unfortunate/' 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  led  by  Doltaire,  a  concerted 
influence  on  the  young  gentleman.  I  cursed  myself  that 
1  had  been  snared  to  this  trap. 

"The  insolent,"  responded  J)uvarney,  "not  the  unfor- 
tunate." 

"  Insolence  is  no  crime,  at  least,"  I  rejoined  (piietly, 
"else  this  room  were  a  penitentiary." 

There  was  a  moment's  ])ause,  and  presently,  as  1  kept 
my  eye  on  him,  he  raised  his  handkerchief  and  llic.'ked  me 
across  the  face  with  it,  saying,  "Then  this  will  be  a  vir- 
tue, and  you  mav  have  more  such  virtues  as  often  as  you 
will." 

In  spite  of  will,  my  blood  pounded  in  my  yeins,  and 

a  devilish  anger  took  hold  of  me.     To  be  struck  across  the 

face  by  a  beardless  Frenchman,  scarce  past  his  teens  I — it 
4 


38 


TIIK  SKATS  OF  Till':   MUillTV. 


sliook  mo  more  tlum  now  I  oare  to  own.  I  felt  my  clicck 
hum,  my  teeth  clinduMl,  and  I  know  a  kind  of  snarl  camo 
from  me;  l)nt  n,i,'ain,  all  in  ji  moment,  I  ean^^dit  a  turn  of 
his  head,  a  motion  (d"  the  hand,  wiiiidi  hrou;^'ht  hack  Alixo 
to  um.  7\n<(er  died  a  way,  and  I  saw  oidv  a  voutli  Hushed 
witii  wine,  stun<(  hy  su^'.i^'estions,  with  that  foolish  i)rid(i 
tiic  youn^^stiT  feels— and  l)o  was  tlic  youngest  of  them  all 
— in  hc'ingas  good  a  man  as  the  hest,  and  asdai'ing  us  tho 
worst.  I  felt  how  useless  it  would  he  to  try  the  straight- 
ening of  matters  there,  though  had  we  two  heen  alone  a 
dozen  words  should  have  heen  enough,  liut  to  try  was 
my  duty,  and  1  tried  with  all  my  might  ;  almost,  for  Alixe's 
sake,  with  all  rny  lu'art. 

"  Do  not  trouhle  to  illustrate  your  meaning,"  said  I 
2)atiently.     "  ^'our  phrases  are  elear  and  to  tho  })oiut." 

"You  holt  from  my  words,"  he  retorted,  'Mike  a  sliy 
mare  on  tlie  curb;  you  take  insult  like  a  donkey  on  a 
well-wheel.  What  lly  will  the  Knglish  lish  rise  to?  Now 
it  no  more  idays  to  my  hook  than  an  August  ehul)." 

I  could  not  help  hut  admire  his  spirit  and  the  sharp- 
ness of  his  speech,  though  it  drew  me  into  a  deeper  quan- 
dary. It  was  elear  that  he  would  not  be  tempted  to 
friendliness;  for,  as  is  often  so,  when  men  have  said 
things  fiercely,  their  eloquence  feeds  their  passion  and 
convinces  them  of  holiness  in  their  cause.  Calmly,  but 
with  a  heavy  heart,  I  answered  : 

"  I  wish  not  to  find  olTence  in  your  words,  my  friend, 
for  in  some  good  days  gone  you  and  I  had  good  acquaint- 
ance, and  I  can  not  forget  that  the  last  hours  of  a  light 
imprisonment  before  I  entered  oji  a  dark  one  were  spent 
in  the  homo  of  your  father — of  the  brave  Seigneur  whose 
life  I  once  saved." 

I  am  sure  I  should  not  have  mentioned  this  in  any 
other  situation — it  seemed  as  if  I  were  throwing  myself 
on  his  mercy;  but  yet  I  felt  it  was  the  only  thing  to  do 


\ 


TIIK   WAdKH  AM)  TIIK  SWOUD. 


ao 


\y  clu'ck 
;irl  ciiino 
I  turn  of 
vk  Alixo 

ii  lliislu'd 
ish  i)ritlo 

tlu'iu  all 
iig  us  tlio 

slrjii;,'lit- 
i  iiloiie  a 
I  try  WHS 
ur  Alixe'd 

:,"  said  I 
)()int." 
ike  a  sliy 
key  on  a 
to?    Now 

lie  sharp- 
ie!' qiian- 
npted  to 
iKive  said 
sion  and 
|lmly,  but 

ly  friend, 

icqnaint- 

u  liglit 

n'G  spent 

br  whose 


|s  111  any 

myself 
bg  to  do 


— that  I  must  bridj^o  this  afTuir,  if  at  cost  of  some  re]Mi- 
tation. 

It  was  not  to  bo.  Doltain*,  seeing  that  my  words  had 
ijideed  alTeeletl  my  op[»oiU'nt,  said:  "A  double  retreat  I 
lie  swore  to  give  a  challenge  to-night,  and  he  cries  otT 
like  a  shee])  from  a  por('U[)ine;  his  courage  is  so  slack  he 
dares  not  move  a  sti'j)  to  his  liburty.  it  was  a  bet,  a 
hazard.  He  was  to  drink  glass  for  glass  with  any  and  all 
of  us,  and  tight  sword  for  sword  with  uny  of  us  who  gave 
liini  cause.  Having  drunk  his  courage  to  death,  he'd  now 
browse  at  the  feet  of  those  who  give  him  chance  to  win 
his  stake." 

His  words  came  slowly  and  bitlngly,  yet  with  an  air  of 
damnable  nonchalance.  I  looked  round  me.  Every  man 
j)rescnt  was  full-s[)rnng  with  wine,  and  a  distaiu-e  away, 
a  gentleman  on  either  side  of  him,  stood  the  Intendant, 
smiling  detesta))ly,  a  keen,  houndlike  look  shooting  out  of 
his  small  round  eyes. 

I  had  had  enough  ;  I  could  bear  no  more.  To  bo 
baited  like  a  bear  l)y  these  Frenchmen — it  was  aloes  in 
niv  teeth  !  I  was  not  sorrv  then  that  these  words  of 
.Tu?'  Duvarney's  gave  me  no  chance  of  escape  from 
tl'ditin":;  thoufjli  I  wished  it  had  been  anv  other  man  in 
the  room  than  he.  It  was  on  my  tongue  to  say  that  if 
some  gentleman  would  take  up  his  quarrel  I  should  be 
glad  to  drive  mine  home,  though  for  reasons  I  cared  not 
myself  to  flight  Duvarnev.  lint  I  did  not,  for  I  knew 
that  to  carry  that  point  farther  might  rouse  a  general 
thought  of  Alixe,  aiul  I  had  no  wish  to  make  matters 
hard  for  her.  Everything  in  its  own  good  time,  and 
when  I  should  be  free!  So,  without  more  ado,  I  said  to 
him : 

"Monsieur,  the  quarrel  was  of  your  choosing,  not 
mine.  There  was  no  need  for  strife  between  us,  and  you 
have  more  to  lose  th:"i  I :  more  friends,  more  years  of 


4:0 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


life,  more  hopes.  I  have  avoided  your  bait,  as  you  call  it, 
for  your  sake,  not  miiie  own.  ]S'()\v  I  take  it,  and  you, 
monsieur,  show  us  what  sort  of  lislierman  vou  are." 

All  was  arranged  in  a  moment.  As  we  turned  to  pass 
from  the  room  to  the  courtyard,  I  noted  that  Bigot  was 
gone.  When  we  came  outside,  it  was  just  one,  as  I  could 
tell  by  a  clock  striking  in  a  chamber  near.  It  was  cold, 
and  some  of  the  company  shivered  as  we  stepped  upon  the 
white,  frosty  stones.  The  late  October  air  bit  the  clieek, 
though  now  and  then  a  warm,  pungent  current  passed 
across  the  courtyard — the  breath  from  the  peo|)le's  burnt 
corn.  Even  yet  upon  the  sky  was  the  reflection  of  the 
fire,  and  distant  sounds  of  singing,  shouting,  and  carousal 
came  to  i.s  from  the  Lower  Town. 

We  stepped  to  a  C(  rner  of  the  yard  and  took  off  our 
coats .  swords  were  handed  us — both  excellent,  for  we  had 
had  our  choice  of  manv.  It  was  partial  moonlight,  but 
there  were  flitting  clouds.  That  we  should  have  light 
however  pine  torches  had  been  brouglit,  and  these  were 
stuck  in  the  wall.  ]\Iy  back  Wiis  to  the  outer  wall  of  the 
courtyard,  and  I  saw  the  Intendant  at  a  window  of  the 
palace  looking  down  at  us.  Doltaire  stood  a  little  apart 
from  the  other  gentlemen  in  tl  e  courtyard,  yet  where  he 
could  see  Duvarney  and  myself  at  advantage. 

Before  we  engaged,  I  looked  intently  into  my  op- 
ponent's face,  and  measured  him  carefully  with  my  eye, 
that  I  might  have  his  height  and  figure  explicit  and  ex- 
act ;  for  I  know  how  moonlight  and  fire  distort,  how  the 
eye  may  be  deceived.  I  looked  for  every  button  ;  for  the 
spot  in  his  lean,  healthy  body  where  I  could  disable  him, 
spit  him,  and  yet  not  kill  him — for  this  was  the  thing 
fiu'thest  from  my  wishes,  (lod  knows.  Xow  the  deadly 
character  of  the  event  seemed  to  impress  him,  for  he  was 
pale,  and  the  liquor  he  had  drunk  had  given  him  dark 
lioUows  round  the  eyes,  and  a  gray  shining  sweat  was  on 


THE  WAG  Ell  AND  THE  SWORD. 


41 


u  call  it, 
md  you, 


5) 


[1  to  pass 
>iijot  was 
s  I  could 
was  cold, 
upon  the 
le  check, 
it  passed 
e's  burnt 
n  of  the 
carousal 

k  off  our 

)r  we  had 

lin-ht,  but 

ave  light 

Lcse  were 

11  of  the 

w  of  the 

tie  apart 

rvhere  he 

my  op- 
inv  eve, 
and  ex- 
how  the 
I;  for  the 
|tble  him, 
he  thing 
le  deadly 
ir  he  was 
11  m  dark 
was  on 


his  chock.  But  the  eyes  themselves  were  fiery  and  keen 
and  there  was  reckless  daring  in  every  turn  of  his  body. 

I  was  not  long  in  finding  his  qiiahty,  for  he  came  at 
me  violeully  from  the  start,  .'ind  1  had  chance  to  know 
his  strength  and  his  weakness  also,  ills  hand  was  quick, 
his  siglit  clear  and  sure,  his  knowledge  to  a  certain  point 
most  definite  and  practical,  his  mastery  of  the  sword  de- 
liglitful;  but  he  had  Utile  imagination,  he  was  merely  a 
brilliant  performer,  he  did  not  conceive.  I  saw  that  if  I 
put  him  on  the  defensive  I  should  have  him  at  advantage, 
for  he  liad  not  that  art  of  the  true  swordsman,  the  pre- 
scient quality  wliich  foretells  the  opitonenfs  action  and 
stands  prepared.  Tliere  I  had  him  at  fatal  advantage — 
could,  I  felt,  give  him  last  reward  of  insult  at  my  pleas- 
ure. Yet  a  lust  of  fighting  got  into  me,  and  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  hold  myself  in  check  at  all,  nor  was  it  easy  to  n.oet 
his  brcatiiless  and  adroit  advances. 

Then,  too,  remarks  from  the  bystanders  worked  me  up 
to  a  deep  sort  of  anger,  and  I  could  feel  Doltaire  looking 
at  me  with  that  still,  cold  face  of  his,  an  ironical  smile 
at  his  lips.  Xow  and  then,  too,  a  ribald  jest  came  from 
some  youiig  roisterer  near,  and  the  fact  that  I  stood  .done 
among  sneerin^  enemies  wound  me  up  to  a  point  where 
pride  was  more  active  than  aught  else.  I  began  to  press 
him  a  little,  and  I  pricked  him  once.  Then  a  singular 
feeling  possessed  me.  I  would  bring  this  to  an  end  when 
I  ha("  counted  ten  ;  I  would  strike  home  when  I  said 
"  ten." 

So  I  began,  and  I  was  rot  then  aware  that  I  was 
counting  aloud.  "  One — two — three  !  "  It  was  weird  to 
the  onlookers,  for  the  yard  grew  still,  and  you  could  hear 
nothing  save  perhaps  a  shifting  foot  or  a  hard  breathing. 
"  Four — five — six  !  "  There  was  a  tenseness  in  the  air, 
and  J  isle  Duvarney,  as  if  he  felt  a  menace  in  the  words, 
seemed  to  lose  all  sense  of  wariness,  and  came  at  me  lung- 


42 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


ing,  lunging  with  great  swiftness  and  heat.  I  was  in- 
censed now,  and  he  must  take  wliat  fortune  might  send  ; 
one  can  not  guide  one's  sword  to  do  least  harm  fighting 
as  did  we. 

I  had  lost  blood,  and  the  game  could  go  on  no  longer. 
"  Eight !  "  I  pressed  him  sharply  now.  "  Nine  !  "  I 
was  preparing  for  the  trick  which  would  end  the  matter, 
when  I  slipped  oa  the  frosty  stones,  now  glazed  with  our 
tramping  back  and  forth,  and  trying  to  recover  myself 
left  my  side  open  to  his  sword.  It  came  home,  though  I 
partly  diverted  it.  I  was  forced  to  my  knees,  but  there, 
mad,  unpardonable  youth,  he  made  another  furious  lunge 
at  me.  I  threw  myself  back,  deftly  avoided  the  lunge,  and 
he  came  plump  on  my  upstretched  sword,  gave  a  long  gasp, 
and  sank  down. 

At  that  moment  the  doors  of  the  courtyard  opened, 
and  men  stepped  inside,  one  coming  quickly  forward  be- 
fore the  rest.  It  was  the  Governor,  the  Marquis  do  Vau- 
dreuil.  lie  spoke,  but  what  he  said  I  knew  not,  for  the 
stark  upturned  face  of  Juste  Duvarney  was  there  before 
me,  there  was  a  great  buzzing  in  my  ears,  and  I  fell  back 
into  darkness. 


IV. 


THE    RAT    IX    TIIH    TRAP. 

'W'lTEX  I  waked  I  was  alone.  At  first  nothing  was  clear 
to  me  ;  my  brain  was  dancing  in  my  head,  my  sight  was 
obscured,  my  body  painful,  my  senses  were  blunted.  I 
was  in  darkness,  yet  through  an  open  door  there  showed 
a  light,  which,  from  the  smell  and  flickering,  I  knew  to 
be  a  torch.  This,  creeping  into  my  senses,  helped  me  to 
remember  that  the  last  thing  I  saw  in  the  Intendant's 
courtyard  was  a  burning  torch,  which  suddenly  multi- 


11 
s| 

si 

1] 

t 
t 


THE  RAT   IN   TIIR  TRAP. 


43 


was  m- 

"lit  send  ; 
fighting 

0  longer, 
le !  "  I 
3  matter, 
with  our 
r  myself 
hough  I 
it  there, 
us  lunge 
nge,  and 
ng  gasp, 

opened, 
ard  be- 
de  Vau- 
for  the 
before 
II  back 


as  clear 
^ht  was 
ted.     I 

ho  wed 
new  to 

me  to 
idant's 
multi- 


plied  to  dancing  hundreds  and  then  went  out.  I  now 
stretched  forth  a  hand,  and  it  touched  a  stone  wall ;  I 
moved,  and  felt  straw  under  me.  Then  I  fixed  my  eyes 
steadily  on  the  open  door  and  the  shaking  light,  and 
presently  it  all  came  to  me  :  the  events  of  the  nighi,  rnd 
that  I  was  now  in  a  cell  of  the  citadel.  Stirring,  I  founl 
that  the  wound  in  my  body  had  been  bound  and  cared  for. 
A  loosely  tied  scarf  round  my  arm  showed  that  some  on<^ 
had  lately  left  me,  and  would  return  to  finish  the  band- 
aging. I  raised  myself  with  difficulty,  and  saw  a  basi-.i  of 
water,  a  sponge,  bits  of  cloth,  and  a  pocket-knife.  Stupid 
and  dazed  though  I  was,  the  instinct  of  self-preservation 
lived,  and  I  picked  up  tlie  knife  and  hid  it  in  my  coat. 
I  did  it,  I  believe,  mechanically,  for  a  hundred  things 
were  going  through  my  mind  at  the  time. 

All  at  once  there  rushed  in  on  me  the  thought  of 
Juste  Duvarney  as  I  saw  him  last — how  long  ago  was  it  ? 
— his  white  face  turned  to  the  sky,  his  arms  stretched 
out,  his  body  dabbled  in  blood.  I  groaned  aloud.  Fool, 
fool !  to  be  trapped  by  these  lying  French  !  To  be  tricked 
into  playing  their  shameless  games  for  them,  to  have  a 
broken  body,  to  have  killed  the  brother  of  the  mistress  of 
my  heart,  and  so  cut  myself  otf  from  her  and  ruined  my 
life  for  nothing— for  worse  than  nothini; !  I  had  swasr- 
gered,  boasted,  had  taken  a  challenge  for  a  bout  and  a 
quarrel  like  any  hanger-on  of  a  tavern. 

Suddenly  I  heard  footsteps  and  voices  outside,  then 
one  voice,  louder  than  the  other,  saying,  "  lie  hasn't  stirred 
a  peg— lies  like  a  log !  "     It  was  Gabord. 

Doltaire's  voice  replied,  "  You  will  not  need  a  surgeon 
— no  ?  "  His  '  ne,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  was  less  careless 
than  usual. 

Gabord  answered,  "  I  know  tlie  trick  of  it  all— what 
can  a  surgeon  do?  This  brandy  will  fetch  him  to  his  in- 
tellects.    And  by-and-bye  crack'U  go  his  spine — alio  !  " 


Hl'n  !|f'i 
I  J,  ■  I 


44 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   ^riGHTY. 


You  have  heard  a  lion  ffrowlinff  on  a  bone.     That 


IS 


how  Gabord's  voice  sounded  to  me  tlien — a  brutal  raw- 
ness; but  it  came  to  my  mind  also  that  tliis  was  the  man 
who  iiad  brou<,dit  Voban  to  do  me  service ! 

"  Come,  come,  Gabord,  crack  your  jaws  less,  and  see 
you  fetch  him  on  his  feet  again,"  said  Doltaire.  "  From 
tlie  seats  of  tlie  mighty  they  have  said  that  he  must  live — 
to  die  another  day;  and  see  to  it,  or  the  mighty  foliv  will 
say  that  you  must  die  to  live  another  day — in  a  better 
world,  my  Gabord 


7    55 


Thci 


it 


•Inch  th( 


'ly 


was  a  moment 
that  of  tearing  linen,  and  I  could  see  the  shadows  of  the 
two  upon  the  stone  wall  of  the  corridor  wavering  to  the 
light  of  the  torch  ;  then  the  shadows  shifted  entirely, 
and  their  footsteps  came  on  towards  my  door.  I  was 
lying  on  my  back  as  when  I  came  to,  and,  therefore, 
probiibly  as  Gabord  had  left  me,  and  I  determined  to 
appear  still  in  a  faint.  Through  nearly  closed  eyelids 
however  I  saw  Gabord  enter.  Doltaire  stood  in  the 
doorway  watching  as  the  soldier  knelt  and  lifted  my  arm 
to  take  off  the  bloody  scarf.  His  manner  was  imperturba- 
ble as  ever.  Even  then  I  wondered  what  his  thoughts  were, 
what  pungent  phrase  he  was  suiting  to  the  time  and  to 
me.  I  do  not  know  to  this  day  which  more  interested 
him — that  very  pungency  of  phrase,  or  the  critical  events 
which  inspired  his  reflections.  lie  had  no  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility;  but  his  mind  loved  talent,  skill,  and  clever- 
ness, and  though  it  was  scathing  of  all  usual  ethics,  for 
the  crude,  honest  life  of  the  poor  it  had  sympathy.  I 
remember  remarks  of  his  in  the  market-place  a  year  be- 
fore, as  he  and  I  watched  the  peasant  in  his  sabots  and 
the  good-wife  in  her  homespun  cloth. 

"  These  are  they,"  said  he,  "  who  will  save  the  earth 
one  day,  for  they  are  like  it,  kin  to  it.  "When  they  are 
born  they  lie  close  to  it,  and  when  they  die  they  fall  no 


That  is 
itul  raw- 
tlic  man 

and  see 
"  From 
st  live — 
[oliv  will 
a  better 

Lind  was 
s  of  the 
^  to  the 
311  ti  rely, 

I  was 

ere fore, 

iiied    to 

eyelids 

in   the 

nv  arm 

rturba- 

s  were, 

and  to 

erested 

events 

of  re- 
clever- 
ics,  for 
hy.  I 
ar  be- 
:s  and 

earth 
^y  are 
ill  no 


THE   RAT  IX  THE  TRAP. 


45 


height  to  reach  their  graves.  The  rest — the  world — arc 
like  ourselves  in  dreams:  wo  do  not  walk ;  we  think  we 
fly,  over  houses,  over  trees,  over  mountains;  and  then 
one  blessed  instant  the  spring  breaks,  or  the  dream  gets 
twisted,  and  we  go  falling,  falling,  in  a  sickening  fear, 
and,  waking  up,  we  find  wo  are  and  have  been  on  the 
earth  all  the  while,  and  yet  can  make  no  claim  upon  it,  and 
have  no  kin  with  it,  and  no  ri^ht  to  ask  anvthimi:  of  it — 
quelle  vie — quelle  vie  !  " 

Sick  as  I  was,  I  thought  of  that  as  he  stoud  there, 
looking  in  at  me ;  and  though  I  knew  1  ought  to  hate 
him  I  admired  him  in  spite  of  all. 

Presently  he  said  to  (Jabord,  "  You'll  come  to  me  at 
noon  to-morrow,  and  see  you  bi'ing  good  news,  lie 
breathes  ?  " 

Gabord  put  a  hand  on  my  chest  and  at  my  neck,  and 
said  at  once,  "  I^reath  for  balloons — alio  ! " 

Doltaire  threw  a  cloak  over  his  shoulder  and  walked 
away,  his  footsteps  sounding  loud  in  the  passages.  Gabord 
began  humming  to  himself  as  he  tied  the  bandages,  and 
then  he  reached  down  for  the  knife  to  cut  the  ilying 
strings.  I  could  see  this  out  of  a  little  corner  of  my 
eye.  When  he  did  not  find  it,  he  settled  back  on  his 
haunches  arid  looked  at  me.  I  could  feel  his  lips  pulling 
out,  and  I  was  ready  for  the  ^'- Poom  ! '"  that  came  from 
him.  Then  I  could  feel  him  stooping  over  me,  and  his 
hot  stroncr  breath  in  mv  face.  I  was  so  near  to  uncon- 
sciousness  at  that  moment  by  a  sudden  anxiety  that  per- 
haps my  feigning  had  the  look  of  reality.  \\\  any  case, 
he  thought  me  unconscious  and  fancied  that  he  had  taken 
the  knife  away  with  him  ;  for  he  tucked  in  the  strings  of 
the  bandajre.  Then,  liftino^  mv  head,  he  held  the  llask  to 
my  lips  ;  for  which  I  was  most  grateful — I  was  dizzy  and 
miserably  faint. 

I  think  I  came  to  with  rather  more  alacrity  than  was 


40 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


•wise,  l)nt  lio  whs  deceived,  and  his  first  words  wore,  "  IIo, 
lio  !  the  devil's  kiiockino: ;  who's  for  lionie,  un'ails?" 


'o  » 


It  was  Ills  way  to  put  all  thiii^^^s  allusively,  using  strange 
figures  and  metaphors.  Yet,  when  one  was  used  to  him 
and  to  them,  their  potency  seemed  greater  than  polislied 
speech  and  ordinary  phrase. 

lie  olTered  me  more  brandy,  and  then,  without  preface, 
I  asked  him  the  one  question  which  sank  l)ack  on  my 
heart  like  a  load  of  ice  even  as  1  sent  it  forth.  "  Is  he 
alive  ?  "  I  inquired.    "  Is  Monsieur  Juste  Duvarney  alive  ?" 

"With  exasi)erating  coolness  he  winked  an  eye,  to  con- 
nect the  event  with  what  he  knew  of  the  letter  1  had  sent 
to  Alixe,  and,  cocking  his  head,  he  blew  out  his  lips  with 
a  soundless  laugh,  and  said  : 

"  To  whisk  the  brother  off  to  heaven  is  to  say  good-bye 
to  sister  and  pack  yourself  to  Father  Peter." 

"  For  (Jod's  sake,  tell  me,  is  the  boy  dead  ?  "  I  asked, 
my  voice  cracking  in  my  throat. 

"  lie's  not  mounted  for  the  journey  yet,"  he  answered, 
with  a  shrug,  "  but  the  Beast  is  at  the  door." 

I  plied  my  man  with  questions,  and  learned  that  they 
had  carried  Juste  into  the  palace  for  dead,  but  found  life 
in  him,  and  straightway  used  all  means  to  save  him.  A 
surgeon  came,  his  father  and  mother  were  sent  for,  and 
when  Doltaire  had  left  there  was  hope  that  he  would 
live. 

I  learned  also  that  Voban  had  carried  word  to  the 
Governor  of  the  deed  to  be  done  that  night ;  had  for  a 
long  time  failed  to  get  admittance  to  him,  but  was  at  last 
permitted  to  tell  his  story;  and  Vaudreuil  had  gone  to 
Bigot's  palace  to  have  me  hurried  to  the  citadel,  and  had 
come  just  too  late. 

After  answering  my  first  questions,  Gabord  would  say 
nothing  more,  and  presently  he  took  the  torch  from  the 
wall  and  with  a  gruff  good-night  prepared  to  go.     When 


d 


THE   RAT  TX   THE  TRAP. 


47 


0,  "  Ho, 

V" 

• 

strange 

to  him 

)olislied 

preface, 
on  my 
"  Is  he 
alive?" 
to  con- 
ad  sent 
ps  with 

3od-bye 

'.  asked, 

5\vered, 


at  they 

nd  life 

m.     A 

)r,  and 

would 

to  the 

for  a 

at  last 

)ne  to 

id  had 

Id  say 

n  the 

Wheu 

I  asked  that  a  light  be  loft  he  shook  his  head  and  said  ho 
had  no  orders.  Whereupon  he  left  me,  the  heavy  door 
clanging  to,  tlio  bolts  were  shot,  and  I  was  alone  in  dark- 
ness with  mv  wounds  and  miserv.  Mvclnak  had  been  ])ut 
into  the  cell  beside  my  couch,  and  this  I  now  drew  over  me, 
and  I  lay  and  tliougiit  \\\)n\\  my  condition  aiid  my  })r()s- 
pects,  which,  as  nuiy  be  seen,  were  not  cheei-ing.  I  did 
not  suiTer  great  pain  from  my  wounds — only  a  stilTness 
tiuit  troubled  me  not  Jit  all  if  I  lay  still.  After  an  hour 
or  so  had  })assed — for  it  is  hard  to  keep  count  of  time 
when  one's  thoughts  a.e  tlie  only  timekeeper — I  fell 
asleep. 

J  know  iu)t  how  long  I  slept,  but  I  awoke  refreshed.  I 
stretched  forth  my  uninjured  arm,  moving  it  about.  In 
spite  of  will  a  sort  of  ho})elessness  went  through  nu^  for 
1  could  feel  long  blades  of  corn  grown  up  about  my 
couch,  au  unnatural  nu'adow,  spi'ingiug  from  tiie  earth 
floor  of  my  dungeon.  1  drew  the  blades  between  my 
lingers,  feeling  towards  them  as  if  tliey  were  tilings  of 
life  out  of  i^lacc  like  myself.  I  wondered  what  colour 
they  were.  Surely,  said  I  to  myself,  they  can  not  be 
green,  but  rather  a  yellowish  white,  bloodless,  having 
only  fibre,  the  heart  all  i)inched  to  death.  T^ast  night  I 
had  not  noted  them,  yet  now,  looking  back,  I  saw,  as  in  a 
picture,  Gabord  the  soldier  feeling  among  tliem  for  the 
knife  that  I  had  takcMi.  So  mav  we  see  tliiuLCs,  and  vet 
not  be  conscious  of  them  at  the  cime,  waking  to  their 
knowledire  afterwards.  So  mav  we  for  veai's  look  upon  a 
face  without  understanding,  and  then,  suddenly,  one  day 
it  comes  Hashing  out,  and  we  read  its  hidden  story  like 
a  ])ook. 

I  put  my  hand  out  farther,  then  brought  it  back  near 
to  my  couch,  feeling  towards  its  foot  mechani(^ally,  and 
now  I  touched  an  earthen  pan.  A  small  board  lay  across 
i^'s  top,  and  moving  my  fingers  along  it  I  found  a  piece 


48 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTV 


of  bread.  Tlicn  I  felt  the  jar,  and  knew  it  was  filled 
with  water.  Sitiiiig  back  I  thon<,^lit  hard  for  a  moment. 
Of  this  1  was  sure  :  tiie  pan  and  bread  were  not  there 
when  I  went  to  sleep,  for  tliis  was  the  si)()t  where  my 
eyes  fell  natiu.tlly  wliile  I  lay  in  ])ed  looking  towards 
Dojtaire;  and  I  should  have  remembered  it  now,  even 
if  I  had  not  noted  it  then.  My  jailer  had  brought  these 
while  I  slept.  B;it  it  was  still  dark.  I  waked  again  jis 
though  out  of  sleep,  startled:  I  was  in  a  dungeon  that 
had  no  window  ! 

Here  I  was,  paeked  away  in  the  fjirthest  corner  of 
the  citadel,  in  a  decj)  hole  that  maybe  had  not  been  used 
for  years,  to  he,  no  doubt,  denied  all  contact  with  the 
outer  wotld — I  was  going  to  say  fric /ids,  Init  whom  could 
I  name  amoiK^  them  save  that  dear  soul  who,  by  last 
night's  madness,  should  her  brother  be  dead,  was  forever 
made  duinb  and  blind  to  me?  Whom  had  I  but  her 
and  Voban  ! — and  Voban  was  yet  to  be  i)roved.  The 
Seigneur  Duvarney  had  paid  all  debts  lie  may  have 
owed  me,  and  he  now  might,  because  of  th..-  injury  to  his 
son,  leave  me  to  my  fate.  On  Gabord  the  soldier  I  could 
not  count  at  all. 

There  I  was,  as  Doltairc  had  said,  like  a  rat  in  a  trap. 
But  I  would  not  let  panic  seize  me.  So  I  sat  and  ate  the 
stab  but  sweet  bread,  took  a  long  drink  of  the  good  water 
from  the  earthen  jar,  and  then,  =5tretching  myself  out, 
drew  my  cloak  up  to  m}  ciiin,  and  settled  myself  for  sleep 
again.  And  that  I  might  keep  up  a  kind  delusion  that  I 
was  not  quite  alone  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth  I  reached 
out  my  hand  and  affectionately  drew  the  blades  of  corn 
between  my  fingers. 

Presently  I  drew  my  ciiin  down  to  my  slioulder,  and  let 
myself  drift  out  of  painful  consciousness  almost  as  easily 
as  a  sort  of  woman  can  call  up  tears  at  will.  When  I 
waked  again,  it  was  without  a  start  or  moving,  without 


i 


I 


THE   RAT  IN   THE  TKAP. 


49 


trap. 

the 
water 

out, 
sleep 
lat  I 
(.'bed 
corn 

(!  let 
■asily 
en  I 
ho  lit 


11 


confusion,  and  1  wu.s  bitterly  buii;::ry.  IJeside  my  coucli, 
with  bis  bauds  on  bis  bips  and  bis  feet  thrust  out,  stood 
(labord,  looking  down  at  nu)  in  a  r|uizzical  and  unsatisfied 
way.     A  torch  was  burning  near  him. 

"  Wake,  my  dickey-bird,"  said  be  in  Ids  rough,  mock- 
ing voice,  "  and  we'll  snuggle  you  into  tbo  pot.  You've 
been  long  biding  ;  come  out  of  the  bujb — alio  I  " 

1  drew  myself  up  painfully.  "•  Wbat  is  the  bour?"  I 
askcfl,  and  meanwhile  1  looked  for  tlic  earthen  jar  and 
the  bi'ead. 

"  Hour  since  when  ?  "  said  be. 

"  Since  it  was  twelve  o'clock  last  night,"  I  answered. 

"  Fourteen  bours  since  ///r;/,"  said  be. 

Tbe  emphasis  arrested  my  attention.  "  I  mean,"  I 
added,  "  since  tbe  fighting  in  tbe  courtyard." 

"  Thirty-six  Iiours  and  more  since  then,  m'sieu'  tbe 
dormouse,"  was  bis  reply. 

1  bad  slept  a  day  and  a  lialf  since  the  doors  of  tbis 
cell  closed  on  me.  It  was  Friday  then,  now  it  was  Sun- 
day afternoon,  (labord  bad  come  to  me  three  times,  and 
seeing  bow  sound  asleep  I  was  had  not  disturbed  me,  but 
bad  broug'it  bread  and  water~-my  prescribed  diet. 

[id  stood  there,  bis  feet  buricfl  in  tbe  blancbed  corn — 
I  could  see  tbe  long  yellowisb-white  blades — tbe  tondi 
throwing  sbadows  about  him,  bis  back  against  tbe  wall. 
I  looked  carefully  round  my  dungeon.  There  was  no 
sign  of  a  window ;  I  was  to  live  in  darkness.  Yet  if  I 
were  but  allowed  candles,  or  a  lantern,  or  a  torch,  some 
books,  pa])er,  pencil,  and  tobacco,  and  tbe  knowledge  that 
I  liad  not  killed  Juste  Duvarney,  I  could  abide  the  worst 
witb  some  sort  of  calmness.  How  nuicb  might  bave  hap- 
pened, must  liave  bappened,  in  all  those  bours  of  sleep  ! 
My  letter  to  Alixe  sbould  bave  been  delivered  long  ere 
this;  my  trial,  no  doubt,  bad  been  decided  on.  AVbat 
liad  Voban  done?     Had  be  any  word  for  me?     Dear 


50 


TIIK  SEATS  OF  TIIH  MUJUTV 


Lord!  hero  was  ji  muss  of  questions  tunibiing  one  upon 
the  otlier  in  my  heiu],  while  my  heart  thumped  behind 
my  waistf'ojit  liivo  u  ruhl)er  ball  to  a  j)rize-fi^hter's  fist. 
Misfortu'.'.cs  may  be  so  great  and  many  that  one  may  iind 
grim  liumour  and  grotesqueness  in  tiu'ir  impossible  con- 
jiin('ti(^n  and  multiidicity.  I  remembered  at  that  moment 
u  friend  of  mine  in  N'irginia,  the  most  unfortuiuite  num  I 
ever  1  lev  Deatli,  desertion,  money  k)sses,  political  de- 
feat, Hood,  came  one  upon  the  other  all  in  two  years,  and 
coupled  with  this  was  loss  of  liealth.  One  day  he  said 
to  me  : 

"  Robert,  I  liavc  a  perforated  lung,  my  liver  is  a  swell- 
ing sponge,  eating  crowds  my  waistband  like  a  balloon,  I 
have  a  swimming  in  my  head  aiul  a  sinking  at  my  heart, 
and  I  ca!i  not  say  litany  for  ha})py  release  from  these  for 
my  knees  creak  with  rheunuitisni.  'I'he  devil  has  done 
his  worst,  liobert,  for  these  are  his — plague  and  i»esti- 
lencc,  being  final,  arc  the  will  of  (Jod — and,  u})on  my  soul, 
it  is  an  absurd  comedy  of  ills  !"  At  that  he  had  a  fit  of 
coughing,  and  I  gave  him  a  glass  of  spirits,  which  eased 
him. 

"  That's  bettor,"  said  I  cheerily  to  him. 

"  It's  robbing  Peter  to  pay  Paul,"  he  answered;  "for 
T  owed  it  to  my  head  to  put  tlie  quid  rvfart  there,  and 
here  it's  gone  to  my  lungs  to  hurry  up  my  breathing. 
Did  you  ever  think,  Pobert,"  he  added,  "that  this  breath- 
ing of  ours  is  a  labour,  and  that  we  have  to  work  every 
second  to  keep  ourselves  alive?  We  have  to  pump  air  in 
and  out  like  a  blacksmilli's  boy."  lie  said  it  so  drolly, 
though  he  was  deadly  ill,  that  I  laughed  for  half  an  hour 
at  the  stretch,  wiping  away  my  tears  as  I  did  it ;  for  his 
pale  gray  face  looked  so  sorry,  with  its  quaint  smile  and 
that  odd,  dry  voice  of  his. 

As  I  sat  there  in  my  dungeon,  with  CJabord  cocking 
his  head  and  his  eyes  rolling,  that  scene  Hashed  on  me, 


ail 


oil 


hi 


H 


w 


ol 


ling. 


:ing 
nio, 


J'JIK    HA'l    IN   TIIK   TKAI». 


51 


aiul  I  1iui;x1h'(1  freely — so  niucli  tluit  (iiibonl  sulkily  pulTeil 
out  his  lips,  jind  iljimud  like  buiiliiig  on  a  eoast-f,'uar(rs 
hut.  'i'lie  more  ho  scowKmI  anil  spluttered,  the  more  1 
laughed,  till  my  wouiuled  side  hurt  mo  and  my  arm  had 
twinges,  lint  my  mood  changed  suddenly,  and  1  politely 
hegged  his  pardon,  telling  him  frankly  then  and  there 
what  had  made  me  laugh,  and  how  I  had  come  to  think 
of  it.  The  (lame  passed  out  of  his  cheeks,  the  revolving 
lire  of  his  eyes  dimnu'd,  his  lips  broke  into  a  souiulless 
laugh,  and  then,  in  his  big  voice,  he  said  : 

"  You've  got  your  knees  to  pray  on  yet,  and  erac.'k  my 
bones,  hut  you'll  have  need  to  con  your  })enitentials  if 
tattle  in  the  town  be  true." 

"  Before  you  tell  of  that,"  said  I,  "how  is  young  Mon- 
sieur Duvariu^y?  Is — is  he  alive?"  I  added,  as  I  saw  his 
look  lower. 

"The  Ik'ast  was  at  door  again  last  night,  wild  to  he 
off,  and  foot  of  young  Seigneur  was  in  the  stirrup,  when 
along  comes  sister  with  drug  got  from  an  Indian  s<juaw 
who  nursed  lier  when  a  child.  She  gives  it  him,  and  he 
drinks;  they  carry  him  back,  sleeping,  and  Ik'ast  must 
s^ind  there  tugging  at  the  leathers  yet." 

"Ills  sister — it  was  his  sister,"  said  I,  "that  brought 
him  back  tolife?" 

"  Like  that — alio  !  They  said  she  must  not  come,  but 
she  will  have  her  way.  Straight  she  goes  to  tliL  palace  at 
iiiglit,  no  one  knowing  but — guess  who?  You  can't — 
but  no  !  " 

A  light  broke  in  on  me.  "  With  the  Scarlet  Woman 
— with  Mathilde,"  I  said,  lio])ing  in  my  heart  that  it  was 
so,  for  somehow  I  felt  even  then  tluit  she,  poor  vagrant, 
would  play  a  part  in  the  history  of  Alixe's  life  and 
mine. 

"At  the  first  shot,"  he  said.  "  'Twas  the  crimson  one, 
as  quiet  as  a  baby  chick,  not  hanging  to  ma'm'selle's  skirts, 


TIIR  SEATS  OF  THE   MKUITY. 


but  watching  and  whispfriii;,'  a  littlu  now  ami  tlion — and 
sho  thei'o  in  lii;^'()t's  palace,  and  lie  not  knowing'!  And 
maids  do  not  tell  liirn,  for  tlicy  l\new  poor  wunch  in  better 
days — alio ! " 

I  {^'ot  up  witli  efTort  and  pain,  and  made  to  rrragj)  Ida 
liand  in  gratitude,  but  ho  drew  back,  putlin;^'  ins  arms 
beidiul  iiiiii. 

'^  No,  no,"  said  iu', '•  I  am  your  jinlcr.  Tljoy've  put 
you  here  to  break  your  hi;,di  spirits,  anil  I'm  to  help  tho 
breaking,'." 

"  Hut  I  thank  you  just  tlie  same,"  I  answered  him; 
"and  J  pronnse  to  <;ive  you  as  little  troulde  as  nuiy  be 
while  you  ai"  my  jailer — which,  witli  all  my  heart,  1  liope 
may  be  as  lon<^  as  I'm  a  prisoner." 

He  waved  vMit  his  hands  to  the  dungeon  walls,  and 
lifted  his  shoulders  as  if  to  say  that  I  might  as  well  bo 
docile,  for  tho  ])rison  was  safe  enough.  '''•Pooni ! "  said 
lie,  as  if  in  genial  disdain  of  my  suggestion. 

I  smiled,  aiul  then,  after  })utting  my  hands  on  tho 
walls  here  and  there  to  see  if  they  were,  as  they  seemed, 
quite  dry,  I  drew  back  to  my  couch  and  sat  down.  Pres- 
ently I  stooi)"ed  to  tip  the  earthen  jar  of  water  to  my  lips, 
for  I  could  not  lift  it  with  oiu^  hand,  but  mv  humane 
jailer  took  it  from  me  and  held  it  to  my  mouth.  When 
I  had  drunk,  "J)o  you  know,"  asked  1  as  cahnly  as  I 
could,  "  if  our  barber  gave  tho  letter  to  Mademoiselle?" 

"M'sieu',  you've  travelled  far  to  rcaoli  that  question," 
said  he,  jangling  his  keys  as  if  ho  enjoyed  it.  "And  if 
ho  had — 


V  " 


1  caught  at  his  vague  suggestion,  and  my  heart 
leaped. 

"  A  reply,"  said  I,  "  a  message  or  a  letter,"  though  I 
had  not  dared  to  let  myself  even  think  of  that. 

lie  whipped  a  tiny  packet  from  his  coat.  "  'Tis  a 
sparrow's    pecking — uo    great    matter    hero,    eh?" — he 


W( 

\\ 

(b 

III) 
sai 
if 


TIIK   RAT    IN    TIIK  T\l\\\ 


53 


»j 


leart 


ghl 


wci»,niotl  it  up  and  down  (tii  his  fingers — "  ii  little  piping 
wrcirs  p((r  />/7/V." 

1  ivaclk'd  .(lit,  for  il.  "  I  should  I'l-ad  it,"  said  hv. 
''  'I'hcre  must  be  no  inui'e  of  tliis.  liut  new  orders  eaino 
(tf/rr  I'd  got  her  dainty  a  tn\sin(\'  Yes,  I  must  read  it," 
said  he—"  hut  mayhe  not  at  lirst,"  he  athletl, ''  not  at  lirst, 
if  you'll  give  word  of  honour  not  to  tear  it." 

"On  my  sacred  honour,"  said  I,  reaching  out  still. 

He  looked  it  all  over  again  provokingly,  and  then 
lifted  it  to  his  nose,  foi-  it  had  a  delicate  perfume.  'I'hen 
he  gave  a  liule  grunt  of  wonder  and  pleasure, an<l  handed 
it  over. 

1  broke  the  seal,  and  my  eyes  ran  swiftly  through  the 
lines,  traced  in  a  llrm,  delicate  haiul.  1  could  see  through 
it  all  the  line,  sound  nature,  by  its  healthy  sinij)lieity 
mustering  anxiety,  care,  and  fear. 

"  Robert,"  she  wrote,  "  by  CJod's  help  my  brother  will 
live,  to  repent  with  you,  I  trust,  of  Friday  night's  ill 
work.  He  was  near  f^one,  vet  we  have  held  him  back 
from  that  rougli-rider,  hi'ath. 

"  Vou  will  thank  (Jod,  will  you  not,  tliat  my  brother 
(lid  not  die?  Indeed,  I  feel  you  have.  J  do  not  blame; 
you  ;  I  know — I  need  not  tell  you  how — the  heart  of  the 
alTair  ;  and  even  my  mother  can  see  through  tla;  wretched 
thing.  My  father  says  little,  and  he  has  not  spoken 
harshlv  ;  for  whicli  I  ufave  thanks<dvinGj  this  nu)rning  in 
the  chapel  of  the  T'rsulines.  Yet  you  are  in  a  <lungeon, 
covered  with  wounds  of  my  brother's  making,  both  of  you 
victims  of  others'  villainv,  aiul  vou  are  vet  to  bear  worse 
things,  for  they  are  to  try  you  for  your  life.  lint  nev*  r 
shall  I  believe  that  they  will  lind  you  guilty  of  dishonour. 
I  have  watched  you  these  three  years  ;  I  do  not,  nor  ever 
will,  doubt  you,  dear  friend  of  my  heart. 

"  You  would  not  believe  it,  liobert,  and  you  may 
5 


64 


THE  SEATS  OP  TITE  MTOnTY. 


think  it  fanciful,  but  as  I  got  np  from  my  prayers  at  the 
chapel  I  looked  toward.^  a  window,  and  it  being  a  little 
open,  for  it  is  a  sunny  day,  there  sat  a  bird  on  the  sill,  a 
little  brown  bird  that  jieeped  and  nodded.  I  was  so  won 
by  it  that  I  came  softly  over  to  it.  It  did  not  fly  away, 
but  hopped  a  little  here  and  there.  I  stretched  out  my 
hand  gently  on  the  stone,  and  putting  its  head  now  this 
side,  now  that,  at  last  it  tripped  into  it,  and  chirped  most 
sweetly.  After!  had  kissed  it  I  placed  it  back  on  the 
window-sill,  that  it  n.  ight  fly  away  again.  Yet  no,  it 
would  not  go,  but  stayed  there,  tipping  its  gold-brown 
head  at  me  as  though  it  would  invite  me  to  guess  why 
it  came.  Again  I  reached  out  my  hand,  and  once  more 
it  tripped  into  it.  I  stood  wondering  and  holding  it 
to  my  bosom,  when  I  heard  a  voice  behind  me  say, 
'  The  bird  would  bo  with  thee,  my  child.  God  hath 
many  signs.'  I  turned  and  saw  the  good  Mere  St. 
George  looking  at  me,  she  of  wliom  I  was  always  afraid, 
so  distant  is  she.  I  did  not  speak,  but  oidy  looked  at 
her,  and  she  nodded  kindly  at  me  and  passed  on. 

"  And,  Ivobert,  as  1  write  to  you  here  in  the  Intend- 
ant's  palace  (wha^  a  great,  wonderful  place  it  is  !  I  fear 
I  do  not  hate  it  and  its  luxury  as  I  ought !),  the  bird  is 
beside  me  in  a  cage  upon  the  table,  with  a  little  window 
open,  so  that  it  may  come  out  if  it  will.  My  brother  lies 
in  the  bed  asleep ;  I  can  touch  him  if  I  but  put  out  my 
hand,  and  I  am  alone  save  for  one  person.  You  sent  two 
messenijers  :  can  vou  not  f^^uess  the  one  that  will  be  with 
me  ?  Poor  ]\Iatliilde,  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me  till  I 
almost  fall  weeping,  l^ut  she  seldom  speaks,  she  is  so 
quiet — as  if  she  know  that  she  must  keep  a  secret.  For, 
Robert,  though  T  know  you  did  not  tell  her,  she  knows 
— she  knows  that  you  love  me,  and  she  has  given  me  a 
little  wooden  cross  which  she  says  will  make  us  happy. 

"  My  motlie"      1  not  drive  her  away,  as  I  half  feared 


THE  DEVICE  OF  THE  DORMOUSE. 


55 


5  at  the 
a  little 
e  sill,  a 
so  won 
f  away, 
out  my 
ow  this 
1(1  most 
on  the 

no,  it 
-brown 
3SS  why 
le  more 
ding  it 
ne  say, 
>d  hatli 
ure    St. 

afraid , 
)ked  at 

[ntend- 
I  fear 
iird  is 
vindow 
ler  lies 
out  my 
nt  two 
)e  with 
till  I 
ID  is  so 
For, 
knows 
me  a 

feared 


she  would,  and  at  last  she  said  that  I  miglit  house  her 
with  one  of  our  peasants.  ^Meanwhile  she  is  with  me 
here.  She  is  not  so  mad  but  that  she  has  wisdom  too, 
and  she  shall  have  my  care  and  friendship. 

"  I  bid  thee  to  God's  care,  Kobert.  I  need  not  tell 
thee  to  be  not  dismayed.  Thou  hast  two  jails,  and  one 
wherein  1  lock  thee  safe  is  warm  and  full  of  liglit.  If  the 
hours  drag  by,  think  of  all  thou  wouldst  do  if  thou  wert 
free  to  go  to  thine  own  country — yet  alas  that  thought ! 
— and  of  what  thou  wouldst  say  if  thou  couldst  speak 
•  to  thy  Alixe. 

^''Postscript. — I  trust  that  they  have  cared  for  thy 
wounds,  and  that  thou  hast  light  and  food  and  wine. 
Voban  hath  promised  to  discover  this  for  me.  The 
soldier  Oabord,  at  the  citadel,  he  hatli  a  good  heart. 
Thougli  thou  canst  expect  no  helj)  from  him,  yet  he  will 
not  be  rougher  than  his  orders,  lie  did  me  a  good 
service  once,  and  he  likes  me,  and  I  him.  And  so  fare 
thee  well,  Kobert.  I  will  not  languish ;  I  will  act,  and 
not  be  weary.     Dost  thou  really  love  me  ?  " 


V. 


THE  DEVICE  OF  THE  DORMOUSE. 

When  I  had  read  the  letter,  I  handed  it  up  to  Cabord 
without  a  word.  A  show  of  trust  in  him  was  tho  only 
tiling,  for  he  had  knowledge  enough  of  our  secret  to  ruin 
us,  if  he  chose.  He  took  the  letter,  turned  it  over,  look- 
ing at  it  curiously,  and  at  last,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders, passed  it  back. 

"  'Tis  a  long  tune  on  a  dot  of  a  fiddle,"  said  he,  for 
indeed  the  letter  was  but  a  small  alTair  in  bulk.  "  I'd 
need  two  pairs  of  eyes  and  telescope  !     Is  it  all  llcart-o'- 


5G 


TIIK  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


my-heart,  n,iul  Come-trip-iii-dowy-grass — alio  ?  Or  is 
tliere  knave  at  window  to  hear  nTsieu'  away  V  " 

I  took  the  letter  from  him.  "•  I^i.sten,"  .said  I,  "  to 
what  the  lady  says  of  you."  And  then  1  read  him  that 
part  of  her  postseript  which  had  to  do  with  himself. 

lie  put  his  head  on  one  side  like  a  great  wise  mag})ie, 
and  "  li'ni — ha!"  said  he  whimsieallv,  "alio!  (iabord 
the  soldier,  Gabord,  tliou  hast  a  good  heart — and  the  birds 
fed  the  beast  with  })lums  and  froth  of  comfits  till  he  died, 
and  on  his  sugar  tombstone  they  carved  the  words,  '  Ga- 


1 1) 


■U 


bord  had  a  good  heart. 

"  It  was  spoken  out  of  a  true  spirit,"  said  I  petulantly, 
for  I  could  not  bear  from  a  common  soldier  even  a  tone  of 
disparagement,  though  I  saw  the  exact  meaning  of  his 
words.  8o  I  added,  "  You  shall  read  llie  whole  letter,  or 
I  will  read  it  to  vou  and  vou  shall  iudge.  On  the  honour 
of  a  gentlenum,  I  will  read  all  of  it ! " 

'•''  Poon}  !  ""  said  he,  "English  fire-eater!  corn-cracker! 
Show  me  the  '  good  heart '  sentence,  for  Fd  si-e  how  it  is 
written — how  (uihuvd  looks  with  a  woman's  whimsies 
round  it," 

I  traced  the  words  with  my  fingers,  holding  the  letter 
near  the  torch.  " '  Yet  he  will  not  be  rougher  than  his 
orders,' "  said  he  after  me,  and  "'  lie  did  me  a  good  serv- 
ice once.' " 

"  Comfits,"  he  continued  ;  "  well,  thou  shalt  have  com- 
fits, too,"  and  he  fished  from  his  pocket  a  2>iii'cel.  It  was 
my  tobacco  and  my  pipe. 

Truly,  my  state  might  have  l)een  vastly  worse.  Little 
more  was  said  between  ({abord  and  myself,  but  he  refused 
bluntly  to  carry  message  or  letter  to  anybody,  and  bade 
me  not  vex  him  with  petitions.  liut  he  left  me  the  torch 
and  a  flint  and  steel,  so  I  had  light  for  a  space,  aud  I  had 
my  blessed  tobacco  and  pipe.  When  the  doors  clanged 
shut  and  the  bolts  were  shot  I  lay  back  oii  mj  couch. 


THE  DEVICE  OF  THE  DORMOUSE. 


57 


Or    is 

I,  "to 
111  tliiit 
f. 

tnagi)i(\ 
(iabonl 
le  birds 
10  died, 
Is, 'Gia- 

Lilantly, 
tone  of 
of  his 
)ttor,  or 
honour 

racdvor ! 
jw  it  is 
hinisics 

letter 

an  liis 

)d  serv- 

'0  c om- 
it was 

Li  I  lie 
'efused 
I  bade 
)  toreh 
I  I  had 
hinged 


I  was  not  all  unhappy.  Thunl<  (Jod,  they  had  not  put 
chains  on  nie,  as  (lovernor  Dinwiddle  had  done  with  a 
French  prisoner  at  WilHanisburg,  for  whom  I  had  vainly 
sought  to  bo  exchanged  two  years  before,  though  he  was 
my  erpial  in  all  ways  and  importance.  Doltairo  was  tiie 
cause  of  that,  as  you  shall  know.  Well,  there  was  one 
more  item  to  add  to  his  indebtedness.  Mv  face  Hushed 
and  my  lingers  tingled  at  thought  of  him,  and  so  I  reso- 
lutely turned  my  meditations  elsewhere,  and  again  in  a 
little  while  I  seemed  to  think  of  nothing,  but  lay  and 
bathed  in  the  silence,  aiul  indulged  my  eyes  with  the  good 
red  light  of  the  torch,  inhaling  its  pitciiy  scent.  I  was 
conscious,  yet  for  a  time  I  had  no  thought:  I  wjis  like 
something  half  animal,  half  vegetable,  whi(3h  feeds,  yet 
has  no  mouth,  nor  sees,  nor  hears,  nor  has  sense,  but  only 
lives.  I  seemed  hung  in  space,  as  one  feels  when  going 
from  sleep  to  waking— a  long  lane  of  half-numb  life,  be- 
fore the  open  road  of  full  consciousness  is  reached. 

At  last  I  was  aroused  by  the  sudden  cracking  of  a  knot 
in  the  torch.  I  saw  that  it  would  last  but  a  few  hours 
more.  I  determined  to  ])ut  it  out,  for  I  might  be  allowed 
uo  more  light,  and  oven  a  few  minutes  of  this  torch  every 
day  would  be  a  great  boon.  So  I  took  it  from  its  place, 
and  was  about  to  rpicnch  it  in  the  moist  earth  at  the  foot 
of  the  wall,  when  I  remembered  my  tol)acco  and  my  pipe. 
Can  vou  think  how  ioyfuUv  I  i)acked  full  the  good  brown 
bowl,  delicately  filling  in  every  little  corner,  and  at  last 
held  it  to  the  flame,  and  saw  it  ligiit?  'JMiat  lirst  long 
whitf  was  like  the  indrawn  breath  of  the  cold,  starved 
hunter,  when,  stepping  into  his  house,  he  sees  food,  fire, 
and  wife  on  his  heartlistone.  I'resently  I  put  out  the 
torchlight,  iind  then  went  back  to  my  couch  and  sat  down, 
the  bowl  shining  like  a  star  Ijefore  me. 

There  and  then  a  })urpose  came  to  mo — something 
which  would  keep  my  brain  from  wandering,  my  nerves 


68 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


from  fretting  and  wearing,  for  a  time  at  least.  I  deter- 
mined to  write  to  my  dear  Alixe  the  true  history  of  my 
life,  even  to  the  point — and  after — of  this  thing  which  was 
bringing  me  to  so  ill  a  pass.  But  I  was  in  darkness,  I  had 
no  paper,  pens,  nor  ink.  After  a  deal  of  thinking  I  came 
at  last  to  the  solution.  I  would  compose  the  story,  and 
learn  it  by  heart,  sentence  by  sentence  as  I  so  comi)osed  it. 

So  there  and  then  I  began  to  run  back  over  the 
•years  of  my  life,  even  to  my  first  remembrances,  that  1 
might  see  it  from  first  to  last  in  a  sort  of  whole  and  with 
a  kind  of  measurement.  But  when  I  began  to  dwell  upon 
my  childhood,  one  little  tiling  gave  birth  to  another 
swiftly,  as  you  may  see  one  flicker  in  the  heaven  multiply 
and  break  upon  the  mystery  of  the  dark,  filling  the  night 
with  clusters  of  stars.  As  I  thought,  I  kept  drawing 
spears  of  the  dungeon  corn  between  my  fingers  softly  (they 
had  come  to  be  like  comrades  to  me),  and  presently  there 
flashed  upon  me  the  very  first  memory  of  my  life.  It 
had  never  come  to  me  before,  and  I  knew  now  that  it  was 
the  beginning  of  conscious  knowledge  :  for  we  can  never 
know  till  we  can  remember.  Wlien  a  child  remembers 
what  it  sees  or  feels  it  has  beo-un  life. 

I  put  that  recollection  into  the  letter  which  I  wrote 
Alixe,  and  it  shall  be  set  down  forthwith  and  in  little 
space,  though  it  took  me  so  very  many  days  and  weeks  to 
think  it  out,  to  give  each  word  a  fixed  place,  so  that  it 
should  go  from  my  mind  no  more.  Every  phrase  of  tliat 
story  as  I  told  it  is  as  fixed  as  stone  in  my  memory.  Yet 
it  must  not  be  thought  I  can  give  all  here.  I  shall  set 
down  only  a  few  things,  but  you  shall  find  in  them  the 
spirit  of  the  whole.  I  will  come  at  once  to  the  body  of 
the  letter. 


w 
w 

y 

w 


MORAY  TELLS  THE  STOllY  OF  HIS  LIFE. 


59 


I  deter- 
^  of  my 
lich  was 
is,  I  had 

I  came 
)ry,  and 
losed  it. 
i^er   the 

,  that  I 
id  with 

II  upon 
mother 
I  111  ti  ply 
B  night 
rawing 
y  (they 
Y  there 
fe.    It 

it  was 

never 

3mbers 

wrote 
little 
ieks  to 
hat  it 
if  that 
Yet 
ill  set 
Xi  the 
)dvof 


VL 


MORAY   TELLS   THE   STOIJV    OF    HIS    LIFE. 


(( 


.  .  I  WOULD  have  vou  know  of  what  I  ain  and 
whence  I  came,  though  I  have  given  you  glimpses  in  the 
past.  That  done,  I  will  nuiko  plain  why  1  am  charged 
with  this  that  puts  my  life  in  danger,  which  would  make 
you  blush  that  you  ever  knew  me  if  it  were  true.  And  I 
will  show  yo-  first  a  picture  as  it  runs  before  mo,  sitting 
here,  the  corn  of  my  dungeon  garden  twining  in  my 
fingers : — 

"A  multiplying  width  of  green  grass  spotted  with 
white  llowers,  an  upland  where  sheep  browsed  on  a  carpet 
of  purple  and  gold  and  green,  a  tall  rock  on  a  hill  where 
birds  perched  and  fiuttered,  a  blue  sky  arching  over  all. 
There,  sprawling  in  a  garden,  a  child  pulled  at  long 
blades  of  grass,  as  he  watched  the  birds  Hitting  about  the 
rocks,  and  heard  a  low  voice  coming  down  the  Avind. 
Here  in  my  dungeon  I  can  hear  the  voice  as  I  have  not 
heard  it  since  that  day  in  the  year  IToO — that  voice  stilled 
so  long  ago.  The  air  and  the  words  come  floating  down 
(for  the  words  I  knew  years  afterwards)  : 

'Did  yc  see  the  while  cloud  in  the  ^^litit  o'  tlio  sun? 

That's  the  brow  and  the  eye  o'  my  bairnie. 
Did  ye  ken  the  red  bloom  at  the  bend  o'  the  crag  ? 

That's  the  rose  in  the  cheek  o'  my  bainiie. 
Did  ye  hear  the  j;'ay  lilt  o'  the  lark  by  the  burn  ? 

That's  the  voice  of  my  bairnie,  my  dearie. 
Did  ye  smell  the  wild  scent  in  the  u^reen  o'  the  wood? 

That's  the  breath  o'  my  !iin,  o'  my  bairnie. 
Sae  I'll  gang  awa'  hanie,  to  the  shine  o'  the  fire, 

To  the  cot  where  I  lie  \vi'  my  bairnie.' 

"  These  words  came  crooning  over  the  grass  of  that 
little  garden  at  Balmore  which  was  by  my  mother's  home. 


60 


TnE  SEATS  OF  THE  MTGRTY. 


Tliore  I  was  born  one  day  in  Juno,  though  I  was  reared 
in  the  busy  streets  oi  (ihisgow,  where  my  father  was 
a  prosperous  merchant  and  famous  for  his  parts  and 
honesty. 

"  I  see  myself,  a  little  child  of  no  great  strength,  for  I 
was,  indeed,  the  only  one  of  my  family  who  lived  j)ast  in- 
fancy, and  my  mother  feared  she  should  never  bring  me 
lip.  She,  too,  is  in  that  picture,  tall,  delicate,  kind  yet 
iirm  of  face,  but  with  a  strong  brow,  under  which  shone 
grave  gray  eyes,  and  a  manner  so  distinguished  thj'.c  none 
might  dispute  her  kinship  to  the  renowned  ]\I,jntrose, 
who  was  lifted  so  high  in  dying,  though  his  gallows  was 
but  thirty  feet,  that  all  the  world  has  seen  hi.n  there. 
There  was  one  other  in  tliat  picture,  standing  near  my 
mother,  and  looking  at  me,  who  often  used  to  s])eak  of 
our  great  ancestor — my  grandfather,  John  Mitohell,  the 
Gentleman  of  J^almore,  as  he  was  called,  out  of  regard  for 
his  ancestry  and  his  rare  merits. 

"I  have  him  well  in  mind:  his  black  silk  breeclies 
and  white  stockings  and  gold  seals,  and  two  eyes  that 
twinkled  with  great  humour  when,  ns  he  stooped  over  me, 
I  ran  my  head  between  his  calves  and  held  him  tight.  I 
recall  how  my  mother  stiid,  '  I  doubt  that  I  shall  ever 
bring  him  up,'  and  how  he  replied  (the  words  seem  to 
come  through  great  distances  to  me),  '  He'll  live  to  be 
^Montrose  the  second,  rascal  laddie  !  Four  sensons  at  the 
breast?  Tut,  tut!  what  o'  that!  'Tis  but  his  foolery, 
his  scampishness  !  Nae,  nae  !  his  epitaph's  no  for  writ- 
ing till  yon  and  I  are  tucked  i'  the  sod,  my  Jeanie.  Then, 
like  Montrose's,  it  will  be— 


C( 
Cil 

tl 

til 


'  Tull  Edinburrow  thov  led  him  tluiir, 
And  on  ii  ij^allcnvs  houg  ; 
Thoy  hong  liiin  liigli  ubono  the  rest, 
He  was  so  trim  a  boy.' 


I^rORAY  TELLS  THE  STORY  OF  HIS  LIFE.        CI 


"I  can  hear  his  hui<!:li  tliis  minute,  as  he  gave  an  ac- 
cent to  the  words  by  stirring  nie  witli  his  stick,  and  I 
caught  tlie  gohl  liead  of  it  and  carried  it  oiY,  trailing  it 
through  the  garden,  till  I  heard  my  motlier  calling,  ard 
then  forced  her  to  give  me  chase,  as  I  pushed  open  a  little 
gate  and  posted  away  into  that  wide  world  of  green,  com- 
ing quickly  to  the  river,  where  I  ]);.iused  and  stood  at  bay. 
I  can  sec  my  mother's  anxious  face  now,  as  she  caught  me 
to  her  arms ;  and  yet  I  know  slie  had  a  kind  of  pride,  too, 
when  my  grandfather  siud,  on  our  return,  '  The  rascal's  at 
it  early.  Next  time  he'll  foid  the  stream  and  skirl  at  ye, 
Jeanie,  from  vonner  bank.' 

"This  is  the  first  of  my  life  that  I  remember.  It  may 
seem  strange  to  you  that  I  thus  suddeidy  recall  not  only 
it,  but  the  words  then  s})oken  too.  It  is  strange  to  me, 
also.  But  here  it  comes  to  me  all  on  a  sudden  in  this 
silence,  as  if  another  self  of  me  were  speaking  from  far 
places.  At  first  all  is  in  patches  and  confused,  and  then 
it  folds  out — if  not  clearlv,  still  so  I  can  understand — and 
the  words  I  repeat  come  as  if  filtered  through  many  brains 
to  mine.  I  do  not  say  that  it  is  true — it  may  be  dreams  ; 
and  yet,  as  I  say,  it  is  firmly  in  my  mind. 

"The  next  that  I  remember  was  clindjing  upon  a 
chair  to  reach  for  my  grandfather's  musket,  which  hung 
across  the  chimney.  I  got  at  last  ujion  the  mantelshelf, 
and  my  hands  were  on  the  weapon,  when  the  door  0})ened, 
and  mv  grandfather  and  mv  father  entered.  I  was  so 
busv  I  did  not  hear  them  till  I  was  caught  bv  the  legs 
and  swung  to  a  shoulder,  where  I  sat  kicking.  '  You  see 
his  tastes,  William,'  said  mv  cfrandfather  to  mv  father  ; 
'he's  white  o'  face  and  slim  o'  body,  but  he'll  no  carry  on 
your  hopes.'  And  more  he  said  to  the  point,  though 
what  it  was  I  knew  not.  But  I  think  it  to  have  been 
suggestion  (I  heard  him  say  it  later)  that  I  would  bring 
Glasgow  up  to  London  by  the  sword  (good  doting  soul  !) 


G2 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


as  my  father  brought  it  by  niuiiufuctiircs,  gaining  lionour 
tlierebv. 

"However  tluit  niiiy  be,  I  would  not  re  ■.  Mil  my 
griiiulfather  had  put  the  nuusket  into  my  arms',  I  could 
scarcely  lift  it,  but  from  tiie  lirst  it  had  a  chi>'.  i  foi  mo, 
and  now  and  then,  in  spite  of  mv  TuotherV  })rotests,  1 
w,\s  1  it  to  hnudle  it,  to  h'uvu  its  ])arts,  to  burnish  it,  and 
i.*-a  id-bye — I  couitl  not  have  been  more  than  six  years 


oi.j — to  rest  it  on  a  roeI<:  and  fire  it  olT.  It  kicked  my 
siioi.  r  roughly  in  firing,  but  I  know  1  did  not  wink  as 
I  pulled  the  trigger.  Then  I  got  a  wild  hunger  to  fire  it 
at  all  times ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  powder  and  shot 
were  locked  up,  and  the  musket  was  put  away  in  my 
grandfather's  chest.  But  now  and  again  it  was  taken 
out,  and  I  made  war  upon  the  unresisting  hillside,  to 
the  dismay  of  our  neiirhljours  in  Balmore.  Feeding  the 
fever  i.i  my  veins,  my  grandfather  taught  me  soldiers' 
exercises  and  the  handling  of  arms  :  to  my  dear  mother's 
sorrow,  f>  she  ever  fancied  me  as  leading  a  merchant's 
quiet  life  like  my  father's,  hugging  the  hearthstone,  and 
finding  joy  in  small  civic  duties,  while  she  and  my  dear 
father  sat  peacefully  watching  me  in  their  decline  of 
years. 

"  I  have  told  you  of  that  river  which  liowed  near  my 
father's  house.  At  this  time  most  of  my  hours  were 
spent  by  it  in  good  weather,  for  at  last  my  mother  came 
to  trust  me  alone  there,  having  found  her  alert  fears  of 
little  use.  But  she  would  very  often  com  with  me  and 
watch  me  as  I  played  there.  I  loved  to  fancy  myself  a 
miller,  and  my  little  mill-wheel,  made  by  my  own  hands, 
did  duty  here  and  there  on  the  stream,  and  many  drives 
of  logs  did  I,  in  fancy,  saw  into  piles  of  lumber,  and  loads 
of  flour  sent  away  to  the  City  of  Desire.  Then,  again,  I 
made  bridges,  and  drove  mimic  armies  across  them  ;  and 
if  they  were  enemies,  craftily  let  them  partly  cross,  to 


MORAY  TELLS  THE  STORY  UF  HIS  LiFE. 


G3 


xr  mj 
were 
came 
ars  of 
and 
self  a 
ands, 
1 rives 
loads 
ain,  I 
;  and 
ss,  to 


tumble  tlieni  in  at  the  moment  when  part  of  th  forces 
were  on  one  side  ol'  the  stream  and  2)art  on  the  <>'i:  r,  and 
at  the  '  iercy  of  my  men. 

"  Ay  grandfather  tauglit  me  how  to  build  forts  and 
breastworks,  and  I  lay  in  ambusli  fur  the  h^'adle,  who  was 
my  good  friend,  for  my  grandfather,  and  f(;r  half  a  do/eti 
other  village  folk,  who  took  no  olTenee  at  my  sport,  but 
made  believe  to  be  bitterly  afraid  when  I  surrounded 
them  and  drove  them,  shackled,  to  my  fort  by  the  river. 
Little  by  little  the  fort  grew  .t.  'il  it  was  a  gooilly  pile ; 
for  now  and  then  a  village  yout)  lelpcd  me,  or  again  an 
old  man,  whose  heart,  ma.b. ,  njc.iced  to  play  at  being 
child  again  with  me.  Yeuis  '^.' *:er,  whenever  1  went  back 
to  Balmore,  there  stood  tl  >  fort,  for  no  one  ever  meddled 
with  it,  or  tore  it  down. 

"And  I  will  tell  you  one  reason  why  this  was,  and 
you  will  think  it  strange  that  it  should  have  })layed  such 
a  part  in  the  history  of  the  village,  as  in  my  own  life. 
You  must  know  that  people  living  in  secluded  i)laces  are 
mostly  superstitious.  Well,  when  my  fort  was  built  to 
such  proportions  that  a  small  ladder  must  be  used  to  fix 
new  mud  and  mortar  in  place  upon  it,  something  hap- 
pened. 

"  Once  a  vear  there  came  to  Balmore — and  he  had 
done  so  fo.  a  generation — one  of  those  beings;"  called  The 
Men,  who  are  given  to  prayer,  fasting,  and  prophesying, 
who  preach  the  word  of  warning  ever,  calling  even  the 
ministers  of  the  Lord  sharply  to  ac^count.  One  day  this 
Man  came  past  my  fort,  folk  with  him,  looking  for  preach- 
ing or  prophecy  from  him.  Suddenly  turning  he  came 
inside  my  fort,  and,  standing  upon  the  ladder  against  the 
wall,  spoke  to  them  fervently.  Ills  last  words  became  a 
legend  in  Balmore,  and  spread  even  to  Glasgow  and  be- 
yond. 

"  '  Hear  me  1 '  cried  he.     '  As  I  stand  looking  at  ye 


G4r 


THE  SKATS  OF  TIIK  MKJllTV. 


from  tliis  wall,  calling;  on  yu  in  your  niitural  bodies  to  takii 
rt'fii^^o  in  tin;  Fort  of  Ciod,  the  An<(t'l  of  Dcnlii  is  look- 
ing owcr  the  battlements  of  heaven,  choosing  ye  out,  the 
sheep  frae  tlie  goats;  ealiing  the  one  to  burning  llames, 
and  the  other  into  peaeeal)ie  habitatious.  1  hear  the 
voice  now,'  cried  he,  '  and  sonu^  soul  among  us  goetli 
forth.  Flee  ye  to  the  i^'ort  of  Refuge!'  I  can  see  him 
now,  his  j)ale  face  sliining,  his  eyes  burning,  his  beard 
blowing  in  the  wiml,  his  grizzled  hair  shaking  on  his 
forehead.  1  had  stood  witiiin  the  fort  watching  him. 
At  last  he  turned,  and,  seeing  me  intent,  stooped,  caught 
me  by  the  arms,  and  lifted  me  upon  the  wall.  'See  yoii,' 
said  ho, 'yesterday's  babe  a  warrior  to-day.  Have  done, 
have  done,  ye  quarrelsome  hearts.  Ye  that  build  forts 
here  shall  lie  in  darksome  prisons ;  there  is  no  fort  but 
the  Fort  of  (Jod.  The  call  comes  frae  the  white  ram- 
parts. Hush!'  he  added  solemidv,  raisinsr  a  fiuirer. 
'  One  of  us  goeth  hence  this  day  ;  are  ye  ready  to  walk  i' 
the  fearsome  valley?' 

"  I  have  heard  my  mother  speak  these  words  over 
often,  and  they  were,  as  I  said,  like  an  old  song  in  Jial- 
moro  and  (rlasgow.  lie  set  mo  down,  and  then  walked 
away,  waving  the  frightened  people  back;  and  there  was 
none  of  them  that  slept  that  night. 

"  Xow  comes  the  stranger  thing.  In  the  morning 
'j'he  ]\ran  was  found  dead  in  my  little  fort,  at  the  foot  of 
the  wall.  Henceforth  the  si)ot  was  sacred,  and  I  am  sure 
it  stands  there  as  Avhen  last  I  saw  it  twelve  years  ago,  but 
worn  awav  bv  rains  and  winds. 

Again  and  again  my  mother  said  over  to  me  liis  words, 
'Ye  that  build  forts  here  shall  lie  in  darksome  prisons'; 
for  always  she  had  fear  of  the  soldier's  life,  and  she  was 
moved  bv  signs  and  dreams. 

But  this  is  how  the  thing  came  to  shape  my  life  : 

"  About  a  year  after  The  Man  died,  there  came  to  my 


)r(ls, 

lis' ; 

was 


my 


MORAY   TELLS  TIIK  STOUY  OF   HIS   LIFi:. 


on 


grand fiitlicM''s  house,  my  motlicr  and  1  bciii^jf  present,  h 
gentleman,  by  name  Sir  Jolm  ({((drie,  and  lie  would  have 
mv  mother  tell  the  whoir  -torv  of  'i'he  Man.  That  being 
done,  ho  said  that  'i'he  Man  was  his  !)rothei',  who  had 
been  bad  and  wild  in  youth,  a  s(jldier;  but  repenting  had 
gone  as  far  the  other  way,  giving  up  [»laee  and  property, 
und  cutting  ol!  IVuui  all  his  kin. 

''This  irentleiuaii  Look  much  notieo  of  me  and  said 
thiit  he  slu-uld  be  glad  to  see  more  of  lue.  Aud  so  he 
did,  for  in  the  years  that  folhiwed  he  would  visit  iit  our 
home  in  (Ihisgow  when  I  was  at  school,  or  at  IJalmore 
until  my  grandfather  died. 

"My  father  liked  Sir  John  greatly,  and  ihey  grew 
exceeding  friendly,  walking  forth  in  the  streets  of  (ilas- 
gow,  Sir  John's  hand  upon  my  father's  arm.  One  day 
they  came  to  the  seho(d  in  High  Street,  where  I  learned 
Latin  and  othi-r  accomplishments,  together  with  fencing 
from  an  excellent  master.  Sergeant  JJowie  of  the  One 
Hundredth  Foot.  They  found  me  with  my  regiment  at 
drill ;  for  I  had  got  full  thirty  of  my  school-fellows  under 
arms,  and  spent  all  leisure  liours  in  mustering,  marching, 
and  drum-beating,  and  practising  all  numner  of  discipline 
and  evolution  which  I  had  been  taught  by  my  grandfather 
and  Sergeant  Dowie. 

"  Those  were  the  days  soon  after  which  came  Dettin- 
gen  and  Fontenoy  and  Charles  Edward  the  Pretender,  .and 
the  ardour  of  arms  ran  high.  Sir  John  was  a  follower  of 
the  Stuarts,  and  this  was  the  one  point  at  which  he  and 
my  father  paused  in  their  good  friendship.  When  Sir 
John  saw  me  with  mv  thirtv  lads  marchin2:  in  tine  or- 
der,  all  tired  with  the  little  sport  of  battle — for  to  me  it 
was  all  real,  and  our  sham  lights  often  saw  broken  heads 
and  bruised  shoulders — ho  stamped  his  cane  upon  the 
ground,  and  said  in  a  big  voice,  '  Well  done !  well  done  ! 
For  that  you  shall  have  a  hundred  pounds  next  birthday, 


CO 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MTCnTY. 


and  as  fino  a  suit  of  scarlet  as  you  please,  ami  a  sword 
from  Loiulttu,  too.' 

"  'I'lieu  he  came  to  me  and  oauf:^lit  mo  by  both  sliou!- 
deiN.  '  Hut  alack,  alack  I  then;  needs  some  blood  and 
llesii  here,  liolicrt  Moray,'  .said  he.  '  Vou  have  more 
heart  than  muscle.' 

U'his  was  true.  T  had  over  been  more  ea,i,'er  than  my 
strength — thank  (lod,  lliat  day  is  <(onu  I — and  sometimos, 
after  Jiatin  and  tlu;  diill  of  my  Iii;,'htfoots,  as  1  called 
them,  I  could  have  erieil  for  weakness  ami  weariness  liad 
J  been  a  <{ii'l  and  not  a  {)roud  lad.  And  Sir  John  kept  his 
word,  likiii",'  me  better  fi'om  that  day  forth,  ajid  coming 
now  and  a^Min  to  see  nie  at  the  school, — thouji^h  he  was 
much  abroad  in  l^'rance — givin<:f  nuiiiy  a  jxumd  to  my 
Jjghtfoots,  who  were  no  worse  scddiers  for  that.  His  eye 
ran  us  over  shar]»ly,  and  his  head  nodded,  as  we  nuirehed 
l)ast  him;  and  once  I  heard  him  say,  'If  they  had  had 
but  ten  years  eacli  on  their  heads,  my  I'rince ! ' 

"  About  this  time  my  father  died — tluit  is,  when  I  wan 
fourteen  years  old.  Sir  .John  became  one  of  tlie  execu- 
tors with  my  mother,  and  at  my  wish,  a  year  jifterwards,  I 
was  sent  to  the  university,  where  at  least  fifteen  of  my 
Lightfoots  went  also;  and  tliere  1  formed  a  new  battalion 
of  them,  thou<xh  we  were  watched  at  first,  and  even  lield 
in  suspicion,  because  of  the  known  friendship  of  Sir  John 
forme;  and  he  liimself  had  twice  been  under  arrest  for 
his  friendsliip  to  the  Stuart  cause.  '^I'hat  he  helped  Prince 
Charles  was  clear:  his  estates  were  mortgaged  to  the 
hilt. 

"He  died  suddenly  on  that  day  of  January  when  Cul- 
loden  was  fought,  before  he  knew  of  the  defeat  of  the 
Prince.  1  was  with  him  at  the  last.  After  some  seri- 
ous business,  which  I  shall  come  to  by-and-bye, '  Kobcrt,' 
sjiid  he,  '  I  wish  thou  hadst  been  witli  my  Prince.  AVhen 
thou  becomest  a  soldier,  fight  where  thou  liast  heart  to 


a 
fo 
\ 
\ 

a 


MORAY   THIJ   .   TIIF.  STORY   oV   HIS   \AVK. 


07 


fi^'lit;  ))iit  if  tliou  liast  <'(>ns(;i(.'no(^  for  it,  K't  it  1k'  witli 
II  Stuart.  I  tlKMi^'lit  to  k'lvvo  tliec  ii  j^ood  moit'ty  of  my 
fortiini',  UolxTt,  Init  little  tluit's  fret!  is  K-ft  for  ^Mviu;^'. 
Vut  thou  hast  something'  from  thy  fatiicr,  and  down  in 
Vir^nrua,  where  my  friend  Dinwiddie  is  (lovernor,  there's 
a  plantation  for  tiiee,  and  a  })urse  of  ^'old,  which  was 
for  me  in  case  I  sh(>uld  have  cause  to  llee  this  troul)lc(l 
realm.  Hut  I  need  it  not  ;  I  ;;o  for  refu<^e  to  my  Father's 
house..  Tlie  lilth;  viiu'varil  and  the  purse  of  ^^)ld  are  for 
thee,  Uohert.  If  thou  thinkest  well  of  it,  leave  this  sick 
land  for  that  new  one.  Uuild  thyself  a  nanu!  in  that 
grea't  young  country,  wear  thy  sword  honourahly  and 
bravely,  use  thy  gifts  in  council  and  dchate — for  DiFi- 
widdie  will  be  thy  fi'iend — and  think  of  me  as  one  who 
would  have  been  a  father  to  thee  if  he  could.  Ciivo'thy 
good  mother  my  loving  farewells.  .  .  .  Forget  not  to 
wear  my  sword — it  has  come  from  the  first  King  Cli.irles 
liimsclf,  IJobert.' 

After  which  he  raised  himself  upon  his  elbow  and  said, 
'Life — life,  is  it  so  luird  to  untie  the  knot?*  Then  a 
twinge  of  agony  crossed  over  his  face,  and  afterwards 
came  a  great  clearing  and  pea(;e,  and  he  was  gone. 

"  King  CJeorgc's  soldiers  entered  with  a  warrant  for 
him  even  as  he  died  and  the  same  moment  dropped  their 
hands  upon  my  sliouhler.  I  was  kef^t  in  durance  for 
many  days,  and  was  not  even  at  the  funeral  of  my  bene- 
factor;  but  through  the  elTorts  of  the  provost  of  the  uni- 
versity and  some  good  friends  wlio  could  vouch  for  my 
loyid  principles  I  was  released.  Vn\t  my  pride  had  got  a 
setback,  and  I  listened  with  ])atier.((^  lo  my  mother's 
prayers  that  I  would  not  join  th/'  King's  nu-n.  With  the 
anger  of  a  youth,  I  now  blame'  his  ^lajest v  /or  the  acts 
of  Sir  John  Godric's  enemies.  And  though  [  was  a  good 
soldier  of  the  King  at  heart,  I  w  ould  lujt  serve  him  hence- 
forth.    AVe  threshed  matters  back  and  fortji,  and  pres- 


68 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


ently  it  was  tlionf^lit  I  sliould  sail  to  A'irginia  to  take 
over  my  estate.  My  mother  urged  it,  too,  for  she  be- 
lieved if  I  were  weaned  from  my  old  comrades,  military 
fame  would  no  longer  charm.  So  she  urged  me,  and  go  1 
did,  with  a  commission  from  some  merchants  of  Glasgow, 
to  give  my  visit  to  the  colony  more  weight. 

"  It  was  great  pain  to  leave  my  mother,  but  she  bore 
the  parting  bravely,  and  away  I  set  in  a  good  ship.  Ar- 
rived in  \'irginia,  I  was  treated  with  great  courtesy  in 
Williamsburg,  and  the  (iovernor  gave  me  welcome  to  his 
home  for  the  sake  of  his  old  friend  ;  aiul  yet  a  little  for 
my  o\v  ■',,  1  think,  for  we  weio  of  one  temper,  though  he 
was  old  and  I  young.  We  were  both  full  of  impulse 
and  proud  and  given  to  daring  hard  things,  and  my  mili- 
tary spirit  suited  him. 

"  In  Virginia  I  spent  a  gay  and  busy  year,  and  came  oil 
very  well  with  the  rough  but  gentlemanly  cavaliers,  who 
rode  through  the  wide,  sandy  streets  of  the  capital  on  ex- 
cellent horses,  or  in  Eng''.sli  coaches,  with  a  rusty  sort  of 
show  and  splendour,  but  always  with  great  gallantry. 
The  freedom  of  the  life  charmed  nu',  and  with  rumours 
of  war  with  the  French  there  seemed  enough  to  do, 
whether  with  the  sword  or  in  the  House  of  Burgesses, 
wliere  Governor  Dinwiddle  said  his  sav  with  more  force 
than  com})lai.sance.  So  taken  was  I  witli  the  life — my  first 
excursion  into  tlie  wide  workinij:  world — that  I  delaved 
my  going  back  to  (Jlasgow,  tiie  more  so  that  some  matters 
touching  my  property  called  for  action  by  the  House  of 
Burgesses,  ami  I  had  to  drive  the  alfair  to  the  end.  Sir 
John  had  done  better  bv  me  than  he  thoujrht,  and  I 
thanked  him  over  and  over  again  for  his  good  gifts. 

*'  Presently  I  got  a  letter  from  my  father's  old  partner 
to  say  that  my  dear  mother  was  ill.  I  got  back  to  Glas- 
gow only  in  time — but  how^  glad  I  was  of  that ! — to  hear 
her  last  words.     When   my  mother  was  gone  I  turned 


agi 


pai 
P.u 


MORAY  TELLS  THE  STORY  OF  IlIS  LIFE.        09 


towards  Virginia  witli  longing,  for  I  could  not  so  soon  go 
afjainst  lior  wishes  and  join  the  King's  arniv  on  tiio  Conti- 
neiit,  and  less  desire  had  1  to  be  a  (ilasgow  merchant. 
(Jentlenien  merchants  had  bettor  times  in  X'irginia.  So 
there  was  a  winding-up  of  the  estate,  not  greatly  to  my  pleas- 
ure; for  it  was  found  that  by  unwise  ventures  my  father's 
])artner  had  perilled  the  whole  and  lost  part  of  the  property. 
P)Ut  as  it  was,  1  hail  a  competence  and  several  houses  in 
(ilasgow,  and  1  set  forth  to  V'ii'giui.i  witli  a  goodly  sum  of 
money  and  a  shipload  of  merchandise,  which  1  should  sell 
to  merchants,  if  it  chanced  1  should  become  a  planter 
oidv.  1  was  warndv  welcomed  bv  old  friends  and  bv  the 
(lovernor  and  his  family,  and  I  soon  set  up  an  establish- 
ment of  n^y  own  in  Williamsburg,  joining  with  a  merchant; 
tliere  in  business,  while  my  land  was  worked  by  a  neigh- 
bouring planter, 

"  Those  were  hearty  days,  wherein  I  made  little  money, 
but  had  much  pleasure  in  the  giving  and  taking  of  civili- 
ties, iu  throwing  my  doors  open  to  acrpuiintances,  and 
with  mv  vounir  friend,  Mr.  ^\'a.-hini:ton,  lavins:  the  foun- 
dation  for  a  Virginian  arniv,  ])v  drill  and  vearlv  duty  in 
camp,  with  occasional  excursions  against  the  Indians.  I 
saw  very  well  what  the  end  f>f  our  troubles  with  the 
French  would  be,  and  I  waited  for  the  time  when  I 
should  put  to  keen  use  the  sword  Sir  John  Oodric  had 
given  me.  Life  beat  high  then,  for  I  was  iu  the  first  flush 
of  manhood,  and  the  spii'it  of  a  rich  new  land  was  waking 
iri  us  all,  while  in  our  vanity  we  held  to  and  cherished  forms 
and  customs  that  one  would  have  thought  to  see  left  be- 
hind in  London  streets  and  drawing-rooms.  These  tilings, 
these  functions  in  a  small  ]>lace,  kept  us  a  little  vain  and 
proud,  but,  I  also  hope,  it  gave  us  some  sense  of  civic  duty. 

"  And  now  I  conu'  to  that  w  hich  will,  comrade  of  my 
heart,  bri?ig  home  to  your  uutlcrstanding  what  lies  behind 
the  charges  against  nie  : 


70 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


71 


"  Trouble  came  between  Cuiiiulu  aiul  \'irginia.  Major 
Washington,  one  Captain  Mackaye,  and  myself  marched 
out  to  the  Great  Meadows,  where  at  Fort  ^'ecessity  we 
surrendered,  after  hard  figlitinp^,  to  a  force  three  times  our 
number.  J,  with  one  Captain  \'au  Braam,  became  a  host- 
age. Monsieur  Coulon  \'illiers,  tlie  French  conmiander, 
gave  his  bond  that  we  should  be  delivered  uj)  when  an 
otlicer  and  two  cadets,  who  were  prisoners  with  us,  should 
be  sent  on.  It  was  a  choice  between  ^Ir.  ^Nfackaye  of  the 
Kegulars  and  ]\[r.  Washington,  or  ]\Ir.  \'an  Braam  and 
myself.  I  thought  of  what  would  be  best  for  the  country  ; 
and  besides.  Monsieur  Coulon  Villiers  pitched  upon  my 
name  at  once,  and  held  to  it.  So  I  gave  up  my  sword  to 
Charles  Bedford,  my  lieutenant,  with  more  regret  than  I 
can  tell,  for  it  was  sheathed  in  memories,  charging  him  to 
keep  it  safe — that  he  would  use  it  worthily  1  knew.  And 
so,  sorrowfully  bidding  my  friends  good-by,  away  we  went 
upon  the  sorry  trail  of  captivity,  arriving  in  due  time  at 
Fort  Du  Quesne,  at  the  junction  of  the  Ohio  and  the 
]\Ionongahela,  where  I  was  courteously  treated.  There  I 
bettered  my  French  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  some 
ladies  from  Quebec  city,  avIio  took  pains  to  help  me  with 
their  language. 

"  Now,  there  was  one  lady  to  whom  I  talked  with  some 
freedom  of  my  early  life  and  of  Sir  John  Godric.  She 
was  interested  in  all,  but  when  I  named  Sir  John  she  be- 
came at  once  impressed,  and  I  told  her  of  his  great  attach- 
ment to  Prince  Charles,  ^lore  than  once  she  returned  to 
the  subject,  begging  me  to  tell  her  more;  and  so  I  did, 
still,  however,  saying  lu^thing  of  certain  papevs  Sir  John 
had  placed  in  my  care.  A  few  weeks  after  the  first  occa- 
sion of  my  speaking,  there  was  a  new  arrival  at  the  fort. 
It  was — can  you  guess? — Monsieur  Doltaire.  The  night 
after  his  coming  lie  visited  me  in  my  cpuirters,  and  after 
courteous  passages,  of  which  I  need  not  sjieak,  he  sud- 


di 

th 


MORAY  TELLS  THE  STORY  OF  HIS  LIFE. 


71 


t 


denly  said,  '  You  liiivo  the  papers  of  Sir  Jolin  CJodric — 
those  bearing  on  Prince  Charles's  invasion  of  Enghuid  ? ' 

"  I  was  stunned  by  the  question,  for  I  could  not  guess 
his  drift  or  purpose,  though  presently  it  dawned  upon 
me. — Among  the  papers  were  many  letters  from  a  great 
lady  in  France,  a  growing  rival  with  La  I'ompadour  in 
the  counsels  and  favour  of  the  King.  She  it  was  who 
had  a  secret  passion  for  Prince  Charles,  and  these  letters 
to  Sir  John,  who  had  been  with  the  Pretender  at  \'er- 
sailles,  must  prove  her  ruin  if  produced.  1  had  promised 
Sir  John  most  solemnly  that  no  one  should  ever  have 
them  while  I  lived,  except  the  great  lady  herself,  that  I 
would  give  them  to  iier  some  time,  or  destroy  them.  It 
was  Doltaire's  mission  to  get  these  letters,  and  he  had 
projected  a  visit  to  AVilliainsburg  to  see  me,  having  just 
arrived  in  Canada,  after  a  search  for  me  in  Scotland, 
when  word  came  from  the  lady  gossip  at  Fort  Du 
Quesnc  (with  whom  he  had  been  on  most  familiar  terms 
in  Quebec)  that  I  was  there. 

"  When  I  said  I  had  the  papers,  he  asked  me  lightly 
for  '  those  compromising  letters,'  remarking  that  a  good 
price  would  be  paid,  and  adding  my  liberty  as  a  pleasant 
gift.  I  ".nstantly  refused,  and  told  him  I  would  not  be 
the  weapon  of  La  Pompadour  against  her  rival.  With 
cool  persistence  he  begged  me  to  think  again,  for  much 
depended  on  my  answer. 

'"See,  monsieur  le  cat)itaine,'  said  he,  'this  little 
affair  at  Fort  Xecessity,  at  which  you  became  a  hostnge, 
shall  or  shall  not  be  a  war  between  Fjigland  and  France 
as  you  shall  dispose.'  When  I  asked  him  how  that  was, 
he  said,  '  First,  will  you  swear  tliat  y<»u  will  not,  to  .aid 
yourself,  disclose  what  I  tell  you  ?  You  can  see  that 
matters  will  be  where  they  were  an  hour  ;igo  in  any  case.' 

"I  agreed,  for  I  could  act  even  if  I  might  not  spcik. 
So  I  gave  my  word.    Then  he  told  me  that  if  those  letters 


72 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY 


wore  not  put  into  liis  liaiids,  La  Ponip.'idonr  would  be 
enraged,  and  fretrul  and  hesitating;  now  would  join  Aus- 
tria against  England,  since  in  this  pi'ovincial  war  was 
convenient  cue  for  batlle.  If  I  gave  up  the;  letters,  she 
would  not  stir,  and  the  disputed  territory  between  us 
should  be  by  articles  seded  by  the  French. 

"  1  thought  much  and  long,  during  which  he  sat  smok- 
ing and  humming,  and  seeming  to  care  little  how  my 
answer  went.  At  last  1  turned  on  him,  and  told  him  1 
would  not  give  up  the  letters,  and  if  a  war  must  hang 
on  a  whim  of  malice,  tiien,  by  (Jod's  help,  the  right ness 
of  our  cause  would  be  (nir  strong  weapon  to  bring  France 
to  her  knees. 

"'That  is  vour  final  answer?'  asked  lie,  risinir,  fin- 
gering  his  lace,  ind  viewing  himself  in  a  looking-glass 
upon  the  wall. 

"  '  I  will  not  change  it  now  or  ever,'  answered  I. 

"  '  Ever  is  a  long  time,'  retorted  he,  as  one  might 
speak  to  a  wilful  child.  '  Von  shall  have  time  to 
thiik  and  space  for  reverie.  For  if  you  do  not  grant  this 
trifle  vou  shall  no  more  see  vour  dear  \'irginia ;  and 
when  the  time  is  ripe  you  shall  go  forth  to  a  better  land 
as  the  Grande  ^farcpiise  shall  give  you  carriage.' 

" '  The  Articles  of  Caj)itulation  I  '  I  broke  out  pro- 
test! ngly. 

"  lie  waved  his  fingers  at  me.  *  Ah,  that,'  he  rejoined 
— '  tliat  is  a  matter  for  conning.  You  are  a  hostnge. 
Well,  we  need  not  take  any  wastrel  or  nobody  the  English 
offer  in  exchange  for  you.  Inde  mI,  why  should  we  be 
content  with  less  than  a  royal  duke?  F\>r  you  are  worth 
more  to  us  just  now  than  any  prince  we  have  ;  at  least  so 
says  the  CJrande  ^Marquise.  Is  your  mind  quite  firm  to 
refuse?'  he  added,  nodding  his  head  in  a  bored  sort  of 
way. 

" '  Entirely,'  said  I.     '  I  will  not  part  with  those  letters.' 


MORAY   THLLS  THE  STORY   OF   HIS   \AVE 


pr 


()- 


"  '  liiit  tliiiik  oiino  again,'  lie  urged  ;  the  gain  of  terri- 
tory to  Virginia,  tlie  jieace  between  our  countries  ! ' 

"  '  Folly  ! '  returned  I.  '  I  know  well  you  overstate 
the  case.  You  turn  a  small  intrigue  into  a  game  of  na- 
tions.    Yours  is  a  schoolboy's  tale.  Monsieur  Doltaire.' 

"  '  You  are  something  of  an  ass,'  he  mused,  and  took 
a  pinch  of  siiulT. 

"'  And  you — you  have  no  name,'  retorted   I. 

"  I  did  not  know,  when  I  spoke,  how  this  might  strike 
home  in  two  ways  or  I  should  not  have  said  it.  I  had 
not  meant,  of  course,  that  he  was  King  Louis's  illegiti- 
mate son. 

"  '  TIkm'c  is  some  truth  in  that,' he  replied  patiently, 
though  a  red  siiot  tlamcd  hiirh  on  his  cheeks.  '  Jiut 
some  men  need  no  chiistening  for  their  distinction,  and 
others  win  their  iiam(\s  with  proper  we;i])ons.  I  am  not 
here  to  quarrel  with  you.  1  am  acting  in  a  large  atTair 
not  in  a  small  intri<rue  ;  a  century  of  fate  ma\  hang 
on  this.  Come  with  me,'  iie  added.  'You  dor'jt  my 
power,  maybe.' 

"  He  opened  the  door  of  the  cell,  and  I  followed  him 
out,  past  the  storehouse  and  the  olhcers'  ajiartmcTits,  to 
the  drawbi'idge.  Standing  '  the  shad  )W  l)y  the  gate  he 
took  keys  from  liis  pocket  '  Here,'  said  he,  '  are  what 
will  set  ycMi  free.  This  fort  is  all  mine  :  I  act  for  France. 
"Will  you  care  to  free  your  if?  You  shall  have  escort  to 
your  own  jieople.  You  s  I  am  most  serious,'  he  added, 
laughing  lightly.  '  It  is  not  my  way  to  sweat  or  worry. 
You  and  I  hold  war  and  peace  in  our  hands.  Which 
shall  it  be?  In  this  trouble  France  or  Fngland  will  be 
manirled.  It  tires  one  to  think  of  it  when  life  can  be  so 
easy.  \ow,  for  the  hist  time,'  he  urged,  holding  out  the 
keys.  '  "^"^our  word  of  ho!;  <ur  that,  the  letters  shall  be 
mine — eh  ?  ' 

"' Never,'  I  concluded.     'England  and  France  are  in 


74 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


groator  linndH  tlmii  yours  or  mine.    'The  God  of  battles 
still  stands  beside  the  balances.' 


u  7 


le  siinigs^ed  a  shoulder.  '  Oh,  well,' said  he,  '  that 
ends  it.  It  will  he  interesting  to  watch  tiie  way  of  the 
God  of  battles.  j\[eanwhile  you  travel  to  Quebec.  He- 
member  that  however  free  you  may  appear  you  will  h  ive 
watchers,  titat  when  vou  seem  safe  you  will  be  in  most 
danger,  that  in  the  end  we  will  have  those  letters  or  your 
life;  that  meanwhile  tlie  war  will  go  on,  that  you  shall 
liave  no  sliare  in  it,  and  that  the  whole  power  of  Ktigland 
will  not  be  enough  to  set  her  hostage  free.  That  is  all 
there  is  to  say,  I  tliiuk.  .  .  .  Will  you  lift  a  glass  of  wine 
with  me?'  he  added  courteously,  waving  a  hand  towards 
the  commander's  (juarters. 

"I  assented,  for  wliy,  thought  T,  sliould  there  be  a 
personal  quarrel  between  us?  We  talked  on  many  things 
for  an  hour  or  more,  and  his  I  found  tlie  keenest  mind 
that  ever  I  liave  met.  There  was  in  him  a  diopassionate- 
ness,  a  breadth,  whicli  seemed  most  strange  in  a  trifler  of 
the  Court,  in  an  exq'usite — for  such  he  was.  I  sometimes 
think  that  his  elegance  and  flippancy  were  deliberate,  lest 
he  should  be  taking  himself  or  life  too  seriouslv.  His  in- 
telligenco  charmed  me,  held  me,  and,  later,  as  we  travelled 
up  to  Quebec,  I  found  my  journey  one  long  feast  of  inter- 
est, lie  was  never  duil,  and  his  cynicism  had  an  admirable 
grace  and  cordiality.  A  born  intriguer,  he  still  was  above 
intrigue,  justifying  it  on  the  basis  that  life  was  all  sport. 
In  logic  a  leveller,  praising  the  moles,  as  he  called  them, 
the  champion  of  the  peasant,  the  apologist  for  the  bour- 
geois— who  always,  he  said,  had  civic  virtues — he  never- 
theless held  that  what  was  was  best,  that  it  could  not  be 
altered,  .  ,nd  that  it  Avas  all  interc'-.ting.  '  I  never  repent,' 
he  said  to  me  one  day.  '  1  have  done  after  my  nature,  in 
the  sway  and  impulse  of  our  time,  and  as  the  King  lias 
said,  After  us  the  deluge.     What  a  pity  it  is  we  shall  see 


MORAY  TELLS  THE   SToRY  OF   HIS  LIFE. 


est 
in- 
k'd 
er- 
bio 
)ve 
ort. 
pni, 
nr- 


h.as 
Isee 


neither  tlie  flood  nor  tlie  ark  I  And  so,  when  all  is  done, 
wc  shall  niis.s  the  most  intcivstinu;  tliiiiir  of  all :  ourselves 
dead  and  the  i:ap  and  ruin  avc  leave  hcliiiul  us.  I'y  that, 
from  my  staiulpuint,'  he  would  add,  Mile  is  a  failure  as  a 
speetaele.' 

"Talkins:  in  this  fashion  and  in  a  hundred  other  ways, 
we  came  to  (^nebee.  Ami  yon  ktiow  iti  general  what 
ha])}>ened.  1  met  your  honoured  father,  whose  life  I  had 
saved  on  the  Ohio  some  years  befo-re,  and  he  worked  for 
my  comfort  in  my  bond;ii;v.  You  know  how  exchange 
after  exehaugo  was  refused,  and  that  for  near  three  years 
1  have  been  here,  fretting  my  soul  out,  eager  to  be  fight- 
ing in  our  cause,  yet  tied  hand  and  foot,  wasting  time 
and  losing  heart,  idli'  in  an  enemv's  eountrv.  As  Doltaire 
said,  war  was  declareiL  '"it  not  till  he  had  maih^  here  in 
Quebec  last  elforts  to  _^'  those  letters.  I  do  not  complain 
so  bitterlv  of  these  lost  vears,  since  they  have  brought 
me  the  best  gift  of  my  life,  your  love  and  friendship;  but 
my  enemies  here,  commanded  from  France,  have  bided 
their  time,  till  an  accident  has  given  them  a  cue  to  dis- 
pose of  me  without  openly  breaking  the  accepted  law  of 
nations.  Thev  could  not  decent Iv  hang  a  lujstage,  for 
wdiom  they  had  signed  iirticles;  but  they  have  got  their 
chance,  as  they  think,  to  try  me  for  a  spy. 

"Here  is  the  case.  When  I  found  that  they  were  de- 
termined and  liad  ever  di'termined  to  violate  their  articles, 
that  thev  never  intended  to  set  me  free,  I  felt  absolved 
from  my  duty  as  an  ofTicer  on  ])Mroh\  and  I  therefore  se- 
cretly sent  to  Mr.  Washington  in  A'irginia  a  plan  of  Fort 
]>uQuesne  and  one  of  (Quebec.  I  knew  that  I  ^vis  risking 
my  life  by  so  doing,  but  that  did  not  deWr  hm-.  ]?y  my 
promise  to  Doltaire,  I  could  not  Tell  of  tJue  mat  r  Iwtween 
ns,  and  whatever  he  has  done  in  other  ways,  he  has  p^e- 
served  my  life;  for  it  would  have  Ikh'U  easy  to  havi'  me 
dropped  off  by  a  stray   bullet,  or   to   have   accidentally 


76 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


(Irowiiod  mo  in  tlio  St.  Luwrciico.     I  Ijclicve  tliis  matter  of 

the  letters  to  be  between  myself  and   him   and   P)i<'ot 

and  periiaps  not  oven  I>igot,  thongli  surely  ho  must  know 
that  La  J'ompadour  has  some  peenlijir  roasoji  for  interest- 
ing herself  in  a  poor  captain  of  jjrovincials.  Wm  uow  ean 
sec  another  motive  for  the  duel  which  was  brou'dit  about 
between  your  brother  and  myself. 

^[y  plans  aiul  letters  were  given  by  Mr.  Washington  to 
General  liraddock,  <nd  the  sofiuel  vou  knew:  thcv  have 
fallen  into  the  haiuls  of  my  enemies,  coj)ios  have  <rono  to 
France,  and  J  am  to  bo  tried  for  ru»  lilV.  Preserving 
faith  with  my  enemy  Doltairo,  I  (.-an  not  plead  the  real 
cause  of  my  long  detention  ;  I  can  only  urge  that  ilwx  had 
not  kept  to  tlieir  articles,  and  that  I,  therefore,  was  free 
from  the  obligations  of  parole.  I  am  sure  thev  have  no 
intention  of  giving  me  the  benefit  of  any  doubt.  M  v  real 
hope  lies  in  escape  and  the  intervention  of  Kngland,  though 
my  country,  alas!  lias  not  concerned  herself  about  me,  as 
if  indeed  she  resented  the  non-delivery  of  those  letters  to 
Doltairo,  since  they  were  addressed  to  one  she  looked  on 
as  a  traitor,  and  held  by  one  whom  she  had  un justlv  ])ut 
under  suspicion. 

"  So,  dear  Alixe,  from  that  little  fort  on  the  banks  of 
the  river  Kelvin  liave  come  those  strange  twistings  of  my 
life,  and  I  can  date  this  dismal  fortune  of  a  dungeon  from 
the  day  The  ]\Ian  made  his  prophecy  from  the  wall  of  my 
mud  fort, 

"  Whatever  comes  now,  if  you  have  tliis  record,  you 
will  know  the  private  history  of  my  life.  ...  I  have  told 
all,  with  unpractised  tongue,  but  with  a  wish  to  be  under- 
stood, and  to  set  forth  a  story  of  which  the  letter  should 
be  as  true  as  the  spirit.  Friend  beyond  all  price  to  me, 
some  day  this  tale  will  reach:  your  hands,  and  I  ask  vou  to 
liouse  it  in  your  heart,  and,  wliatever  comes,  lot  it  be  for 
my  rc'  'embrance.     God  be  with  you,  and  farewell ! " 


"QUOTH   LITTLE   GvVRALNE." 


77 


VIL 


"  QT'OTTT    T.TTTLK    OAnAIXE. 


» 


I  TTAVE  rrivon  tlio  story  hero  a.'?  thoui^li  it  liad  boon 
tlionglit  out  ami  written  thai  Sunday  afternoon  wh'wh 
brought  me  good  news  of  .lusto  Di'vanicy.  IJiit  il  was 
not  so.  I  did  not  choose  to  break  tlie  run  of  the  tab) 
to  tell  of  other  things  ami  of  the  passing  of  time.  The 
making  took  mo  many,  numy  wi'eks,  and  in  aU  that 
time  1  had  seen  no  faee  but  (labord's,  and  heard  no 
voice  but  his  as  he  came  twice  a,  day  to  bring  me  bread 
and  water.  He  would  answer  no  (juostions  concerning 
Juste  Duvarney,  or  \'(jban,  or  Monsieur  Doltaire,  nor  tell 
me  anythinir  of  what  was  forward  in  tlie  town.  lie  liad 
had  his  orders  precise  enough  he  said.  At  the  end  of 
all  my  hints  and  turnings  and  approaches,  stretching 
himself  up,  and  turning  the  corn  about  with  his  foot 
(but  not  crushing  it,  for  he  saw  that  I  prized  the  poor 
little  comrades),  he  would  say  : 

"  Snug,  snug,  quiet  a!id  warm  I  The  cosiest  nest  in 
the  world — alio  !  " 

There  was  no  coaxing  him,  and  at  last  I  desisted.  I 
had  no  light.  With  resolution  I  set  tuv  mind  to  see  in 
spite  of  the  dark,  and  at  the  end  of  a  month  T  was  able 
to  note  the  outlines  of  my  dungeon  ;  nay,  more,  T  war- 
able  to  see  my  little  field  of  corn  ;  and  at  last  what  jo  / 
I  had  when,  hearing  a  little  rustle  near  me,  I  looked 
closely  and  beheld  a  mouse  runiduij:  across  the  floor  !  I 
straightway  began  to  scatter  crumbs  of  bread,  that  it  might, 
perhaps,  come  near  mo — as  at  last  it  did. 

I  have  not  spoken  at  all  of  my  wounds,  though  they 
gave  me  many  ])ainful  hours,  and  1  had  no  attendance 
but  my  own  and  (lal)ord's.  I'he  wound  in  my  side  was 
long  healing,  for  it  was  more  easily  disturbed  as  I  turned 


>«3B!<Sf*S4« 


y^^ 


IB 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


in  my  slcop,  wliile  I  could  ease  my  arm  Jit  all  tirnos,  and 
it  came  on  slowly.  My  sulTcrin^^^s  drew  on  my  Ik-sh,  m}' 
blood,  and  my  spirits,  and  to  this  was  added  tiiat  dist-aso 
inaction,  the  corn)si(.!i  nf  soliLiidc,  and  the  fever  of  sus- 
pense and  uncertainty  as  to  Alix"  and  Juste  Duvarney. 
Every  iiour,  every  rnoinenL  that  1  had  ever  i)assed  in  Aiixe'a 
presence,  with  nuiiiy  little  incidents  and  scenes  in  which 
we  shared,  passed  before  me— vi\idaml  cherished  i)icturcs 
of  tlu!  mind.     One  of  tiiose  incidents  1  will  set  down  hero. 

A  year  or  so  before,  soon  after  Juste  Duvarney  camo 
from  Montreal,  he  brouijiit  in  one  dav  from  huntinir  a 
youuLi:  live  hawk,  and  put  it  in  a  ca,i;e.  When  1  came 
the  next  morning,  Alixe  met  me,  and  asked  nu'  to  see 
what  ho  had  brought.  There,  ^wside  the  kitchen  door, 
overhung  with  morning-glories  and  llankcd  by  holly- 
hocks, was  a  largo  green  cage,  and  in  it  the  gray-brown 
hawk.  "Poor  thing,  poor  prisoned  thing!"  she  said. 
"  Look  how  strange  and  hunted  it  seems  !  See  how  its 
feathers  stir!  And  those  Hashing,  watchful  eyes,  they 
seem  to  read  through  you,  and  to  say,  '  Who  are  you  ? 
What  do  you  want  with  nu^  ?  Your  world  is  not  my 
world;  your  air  is  not  my  air;  your  homes  are  holes, 
and  mine  hansfs  high  u])  between  you  and  God.  Who 
are  you  ?  Why  do  you  ])en  me  ?  You  have  shut  me  in 
that  I  may  not  travel  not  even  die  out  in  the  open 
worhh  All  the  world  is  mine;  yours  is  oidy  a  stolen 
field.  Who  are  vou  ?  What  do  you  want  with  me? 
There  is  a  fire  within  my  head,  it  eats  to  my  eyes,  and 
I  burn  away.     What  do  yon  want  with  me?'" 

She  did  not  speak  these  words  all  at  once  as  I  liave 
written  them  here,  but  little  by  little,  as  we  s<-ood  there 
talking  beside  the  cage.  Yet,  as  she  talked  with  me,  her 
mind  was  on  the  bird,  her  lingers  running  up  and  down 
the  cage  bars  soothingly,  her  voice  now  and  again  inter- 
jecting soft  reflections  aTul  exclamations. 


"(iUOTII    LITTLK  (lAKAINK." 


79 


"SlKill  I  set  it  five?"   I  asked  Ikm'. 

She  tunu'tl  upon  tiio  and  rt'|)lic(l,  '' Ah,  inonsiciir,  I 
hoped  you  Would— wiihout  my  askiuir.  Von  arc  a  pris- 
onor  too,"  slio  added;  '*  uiie  captive  sliculd  feel  for  an- 
other." 

"And  the  freeman  for  both,"  J  answered  meainn_L:ly, 
us  1  sofily  0})eiied  tiie  caixe. 

She  did  not  drop  her  eyes,  l)ut  raised  them  shinini,' 
honestly  and  frankly  to  mine,  and  said,  ''  I  wished  you  to 
tliink  tliat." 

Opening  the  ca^i^e  di.or  wi(h",  I  eallrd  the  little  eap- 
tive  to  freedom,  Ihit  wliiU-  we  stood  (dose  hv  it  would 
not  stir,  and  the  look  in  its  eyes  hecame  wihh-r.  I  moved 
away,  and  Alixe  followed  me.  Sfandiui:  ln'side  an  old 
well  we  waited  and  watched.  Pi-esently  the  hawk  dropped 
from  the  ]ter(di,  hop[)ed  to  the  (htor,  tlu'U  with  a  wild 
.sprinu^  was  "j^one,  up,  up,  up,  ami  v.as  away  over  the  nui}»le 
woods  beyond,  lost  in  the  sun  and  the  u'ood  air. 

I  know  not  quite  why  1  dwell  (»n  this  scene,  save  that 
it  throws  some  little  li^uht  upon  her  nature,  and  shows 
how  simple  and  yet  deep  she  was  in  soul,  and  what  was 
the  fashion  of  our  friendship,  ihit  1  can  perhaps  <:ive  a 
clearer  insiirht  of  her  (diaracter  if  I  here  set  down  the  sub- 
stance of  a  letter  written  about  that  time,  whieh  came  into 
my  possession  loni^  afterwards.  It  was  her  custom  to 
write  her  letters  first  in  a  ])ook,  and  afterwards  to  copy 
them  for  postinnc.  This  she  did  that  they  mio-lit  be  an 
impulse  to  her  friendships  and  a  record  of  her  feelings. 

AlIXK    DcVAKNKV    to    Lr(IK    lX)TIU.Nlf;KK. 

(,)ri;i>.i:c  ("rrv,  /lie  Inth  <if  Mm/,  nin. 

My  "DEAR  LrriH  :  T  wish  I  knew  how  to  tell  you  all 
I  have  been  thiid^ing  since  we  parted  at  the  (h:)or  of  the 
Ursulines  a  year  ago.  Then  we  were  going  to  meet  again 
in  a  few  weeks,  and  now  twelve  months  have  gone  I     How 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


.*•  A    ^. 


1.0 


1.1 


1.25 


IS  us    |2.5 

■50  "^"     !!■■ 

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2.0 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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80 


TnE  SKATS  OF  THE  MICIITY. 


have  I  ppont  them  ?  Not  wickedly,  I  hope,  and  yet  some- 
times  I  wonder  if  ^fere  TSt.  CJeorge  would  quite  approve 
of  me ;  for  I  have  wild  spirits  now  and  then,  and  I 
shout  and  sing  in  the  woods  and  along  the  river  as  if  I 
were  a  mad  youngster  home  from  school.  Jiut  iiuleed, 
that  is  the  way  1  feel  at  times,  though  again  I  am  so  quiet 
that  I  am  frightened  of  myself.  I  am  a  hawk  to-day  and 
a  mouse  to-morrow,  and  fond  of  pleasure  all  the  time.  Ah, 
what  good  days  I  have  had  with  Juste  !  You  remember 
him  before  he  went  to  ^lontreal  ?  He  is  gay,  full  of 
fancies,  as  brave  as  can  be,  and  plays  and  sings  well,  but  he 
is  very  hot-headed,  and  likes  to  play  the  tyrant.  We  have 
some  bad  encounters  now  and  then.  But  we  love  each 
other  better  for  it ;  he  respects  me,  and  he  does  not  be- 
come spoiled,  as  you  will  see  when  you  come  to  us, 

I  have  had  no  society  yet.  My  mother  thinks  seventeen 
years  too  few  to  warrant  my  going  into  the  gay  woi'ld.  I 
wonder  will  my  wings  be  any  stronger,  will  there  be  less 
danjrer  of  scorching  them  at  twentv-six?  Years  do  not 
make  us  wise ;  one  may  be  as  wise  at  twenty  as  at  fifty. 
And  they  do  not  save  us  from  the  scorching.  I  know 
more  than  they  guess  how  cruel  the  world  may  be  to  the 
innocent  as  to— the  other.  One  can  not  live  within  sight 
of  the  Intendant's  palace  and  the  Chateau  St.  Louis  with- 
out learning  numy  things ;  and,  for  myself,  though  I 
hunger  for  all  the  joys  of  life,  I  do  not  fret  because  my 
mother  holds  me  back  from  the  gay  doings  in  the  town. 
1  have  my  long  walks,  my  fishing  and  rowing,  and  some- 
times shooting,  with  Juste  and  my  sister  CJeorgette,  my 
drawing,  painting,  music,  needlework,  and  my  housework. 

Yet  I  am  not  entirely  happy,  I  do  not  know  quite 
why.  Do  you  ever  feel  as  if  there  were  some  sorrow  far 
back  in  von,  which  now  and  then  rushed  in  and  flooded 
your  spirits,  and  then  drew  back,  and  you  could  not  give 
it  a  name?     Well,  that  is  the  way  with  me.     Yesterday, 


"QUOTH   LITTLE   GAUAIXK." 


81 


;  some- 
p])rovo 
and  I 
as  if  I 
iiideod, 
0  quiet 
lav  and 
c/  All, 
nembor 
full  of 
,  but  be 
t'e  bave 
re  each 
not  be- 

ventecn 
)rld.     I 
be  less 
do  not 
at  fifty, 
know 
to  tbe 
n  sight 
is  with- 
:)ngh    I 
se  my 
town, 
some- 
tte,  my 
ework. 
V  quite 
ow  far 
flooded 
ot  give 
terday, 


as  I  stood  in  the  kitchen  beside  our  old  cook  Jovin,  she 
said  a  kind  word  to  me,  and  my  eyes  lilled,  and  I  ran  up 
to  my  room,  and  burst  into  tears  as  1  lay  U]ion  my  bed. 
I  could  not  hel})  it.  1  tliought  at  first  it  was  because  of 
the  poor  hawk  that  Captain  Moray  and  I  set  free  yester- 
day morning;  but  it  could  not  have  been  that,  for  it  was 
free  when  1  cried,  you  see.  You  know,  of  course,  that  he 
saved  my  father's  life,  some  years  ago  ?  That  is  one  reason 
why  he  has  been  used  so  well  in  Quebec,  for  otherwise  no 
one  would  have  lessened  the  rigours  of  his  captivity.  lUit 
there  are  tales  that  he  is  too  curious  about  our  jrovern- 
nient  and  state,  and  so  he  may  be  kept  close  jailed,  though 
he  only  came  here  as  a  hostage.  He  is  much  at  our  home, 
and  sometimes  walks  with  Juste  and  me  and  (Jeorgette, 
and  accompanies  my  mother  in  the  streets.  This  is  not 
to  the  liking  of  the  Intendant  who  loves  not  my  father 
because  he  is  such  a  friend  of  our  cousin  the  (iovernor. 
If  their  lives  and  characters  be  anything  to  the  point  the 
Governor  must  be  in  the  right. 

In  truth,  things  arc  in  a  sad  way  here,  for  there  is 
robbery  on  every  hand,  and  who  can  tell  what  the  end 
may  be?  Perhaps  that  we  go  to  the  English  after  all. 
Monsieur  Doltaire — you  do  not  know  him,  I  think — says, 
"  If  the  English  eat  us,  as  they  swear  they  will,  they'll  die 
of  megrims,  our  alfairs  are  so  indigestible."  At  another 
time  he  said,  "  Better  to  be  English  than  to  be  damned." 
And  when  some  one  asked  him  what  he  meant,  he  said, 
"Is  it  not  read  from  the  altar,  '  Cursed  is  he  that  putteth 
his  trust  in  man'?  The  English  trust  nobody,  and  we 
trust  the  English."  That  was  aimed  at  Captain  ^loray, 
who  was  present,  and  I  felt  it  a  cruel  thing  for  him  to 
say;  but  Captain  Moray,  smiling  at  the  ladies,  said, 
"  Better  to  be  Erench  and  damned  than  not  to  be  Erench 
at  all."  And  this  pleased  .Monsieur  Doltaire,  who  does 
not  love  him.     I  know  not  why,  but  there  are  vagre 


82 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIOnTY. 


wliispcrs  tliat  lio  is  acting  against  tlie  Englishman  for 
causes  best  known  at  \'ersaiiles,  wliicli  have  nothing  to  do 
vitii  our  alTairs  here.  1  do  believe  that  Monsieur  Dol- 
tairo  would  rather  hear  a  clever  thing  than  get  ten  thousand 
francs.  At  such  times  his  face  lights  up,  he  is  at  once  on 
Ins  mettle,  his  eyes  look  almost  fiendishly  beautiful.  He  is 
a  handsome  man,  but  he  is  wicked,  and  I  do  not  think  he 
has  one  little  sense  of  morals.  1  do  not  suppose  he  would 
stab  a  man  in  tiie  back,  or  remove  his  neighbour's  land- 
mark in  the  night,  though  he'd  rob  him  of  it  in  open 
daylight,  and  call  it  "  enterprisi^ " — a  usual  word  with 
him. 

lie  is  a  favourite  with  ^ladame  Cournal,  who  influ- 
ences Bigot  most,  and  one  day  we  may  see  the  boon  com- 
panions  at  each  other's  tiiroats ;  and  if  either  falls,  I  hope 
it  may  be  Bigot,  for  ^lonsieur  Doltaire  is,  at  least,  no 
robber.  Indeed,  he  is  kind  to  the  poor  in  a  disdainful 
sort  of  way.  lie  gives  to  them  and  scoiTs  at  them  at  the 
same  moment:  a  bad  man,  with  just  enough  natural  kind- 
ness to  make  him  dangerous.  I  have  not  seen  much  of  the 
world,  but  some  tilings  we  know  by  instinct ;  we  feel  them  ; 
and  I  often  wonder  if  that  is  not  the  way  we  know  every- 
thing in  the  end.  Sometimes  when  I  take  my  long  walks, 
or  go  and  sit  beside  the  Falls  of  ^lontmorenci,  looking  out 
to  the  great  city  on  th.e  Heights,  to  dear  Isle  Orleans, 
where  we  have  our  pretty  villa  (we  are  to  go  there  next 
week  for  three  months — happy  summer  months),  up  at 
the  blue  sky  and  into  the  deep  woods,  I  have  strange  feel- 
ings, which  afterwards  become  thoughts ;  and  sometimes 
they  fly  away  like  butterflies,  but  oftener  they  stay  with 
me,  and  I  give  them  a  little  garden  to  roam  in — you  can 
guess  where.  Now  and  then  I  call  them  out  of  the  garden 
and  make  them  speak,  and  then  I  set  down  what  they  say 
in  my  journal ;  but  I  think  they  like  their  garden  best. 
You  remember  the  song  we  used  to  sing  at  school  ? 


n  for 
to  do 

Dol- 
usaiid 
ice  on 

lie  is 
ink  lie 
would 

land- 
1  open 
I  with 

influ- 
n  com- 
I  hope 
'ust,  no 
Llainful 
I  lit  the 
1  kind- 
of  the 
them ; 
e very- 
walks, 
ng  out 
leans, 
next 
up  at 
feel- 
etimes 
ly  with 
ou  can 
garden 
ley  say 
n  best. 


le 


«' QUOTH   LITTLE  GARAINE."  83 

"  '  Wliero  do  the  stars  grow,  littlo  Gjirainel 
Tlu'  pirdcn  of  moons,  is  it  fur  away? 
The  orchard  of  suns,  my  little  Garaiiie, 
Will  you  take  us  there  some  day  T 

"  *  If  you  shut  your  eyes,'  quoth  little  Garainc, 
'  I  will  sIkjw  you  the  way  to  go 
To  the  orc'iuird  of  suns  and  the  garden  of  moons 
And  the  field  where  tiie  stars  do  grow. 

•' '  But  you  must  speak  soft,*  (juoth  little  Garainc, 
'And  still  must  your  footsteps  be, 
For  a  great  bear  prowls  in  the  field  of  the  stars, 
And  the  moons  they  have  men  to  see. 

" '  And  tlie  suns  have  Uia  Cliildren  of  Signs  to  guard. 
And  they  have  no  pity  at  all — 
You  must  not  stumble,  you  must  not  speak. 
When  you  come  to  t^he  orchard  wall. 

"  '  The  gates  are  locked,'  quoth  little  Garaine, 
'  But  the  way  1  am  going  to  tell  i 
The  key  of  your  heart  it  will  open  them  all : 
And  there's  where  the  darlings  dwell  I'  " 

You  may  not  care  to  read  these  lines  again,  but  it 
helps  to  show  what  I  mean :  that  everything  is  in  the 
heart,  and  that  nothing  is  at  all  if  we  do  not  feel  it. 
Sometimes  I  have  spoken  of  these  things  to  my  mother, 
but  she  does  not  see  as  I  do.  I  dare  not  tell  mv  father  all 
I  think,  and  Juste  is  so  much  a  creature  of  moods  that  I 
am  never  sure  whether  he  will  be  sensible  and  kind  or 
scoff.  One  can  not  bear  to  be  laughed  at.  And  as  for 
my  sister,  she  never  thinks;  she  only  lives;  and  she  looks 
it — looks  beautiful.  But  there,  dear  Lucie,  I  must  not 
tire  you  with  my  childish  philosophy,  though  I  feel  no 
longer  a  child.  You  would  not  know  your  friend.  I  can 
not  tell  what  has  come  over  me.      VuUa-! 

To-morrow  we  go  to  visit  General  Montcalm,  who  has 


84 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGUTY. 


^ 


just  arrived  in  the  colony.  Kigot  and  liis  gay  set  are  not 
likely  to  be  there.  My  mother  insists  that  1  shall  never 
darken  the  doors  of  the  Intendant's  italace. 

Do  you  still  hold  to  your  former  purpose  of  keei)ing 
a  daily  jounud?  If  so,  1  beg  you  to  eo])y  into  it  tiiis 
epistle  and  your  answer ;  and  when  1  go  up  to  your  dear 
manor  house  at  liiniuce  next  summer,  we  will  read  over 
our  letters  and  other  things  set  down,  and  gossip  of  the 
changes  come  since  we  met  last.  Do  sketch  the  old  ])lace 
for  me  (as  will  I  our  new  villa  on  dear  Isle  Orleans),  and 
make  interest  with  the  good  cure  to  bring  it  to  me  with 
your  letter,  since  there  are  no  posts,  no  postmen,  yet  be- 
tween here  and  Beauce.  The  cure  most  kimllv  bears  this 
to  you,  and  says  lie  will  gladly  be  our  messenger.  Yester- 
day he  said  to  me,  shaking  his  head  in  a  whimsical  way, 
"  But  no  treason,  mademoiselle,  and  no  heresy  or  schism." 
I  am  not  quite  sure  what  he  meant.  I  dare  hardly  think 
he  had  Captain  Moray  in  his  mind.  I  would  not  for  tlie 
world  so  lessen  my  good  opinion  of  him  as  to  think 
him  suspicious  of  me  when  no  otlier  dare ;  and  so  I 
put  his  words  down  to  chance  hitting,  to  a  humorous 
fancy. 

lie  sure,  dear  Lucie,  I  shall  not  love  you  less  for  giv- 
ing me  a  prompt  answer.  1'ell  me  of  what  you  are  think- 
ing and  what  doing.  If  Juste  can  be  sjjared  from  the 
Governor's  establishment,  mav  I  brino:  him  with  me  next 
summer?  lie  is  a  difficult,  sparkling  sort  of  fellow,  but 
you  are  so  steady-tempered,  so  full  of  tact,  getting  your 
own  way  so  quietly  and  cleverly,  that  I  am  sure  I  should 
find  plenty  of  straw  for  the  bricks  of  my  house  of  hope, 
my  castle  in  Spain  ! 

Do  not  sfive  too  much  of  mv  share  of  thv  heart  else- 
where,  and  continue  to  think  me,  my  dear  Lucie,  thy 
friend,  loyal  and  loving, 

Alixe  Duyarxey. 


e  not 

never 

oping 

:  tills 

dear 

I  over 
)f  the 

})liice 
),  und 
^  with 
et  be- 
rs  this 
'ester- 

II  way, 
hisni." 

think 

or  the 

think 

1  so  I 

lorons 

ir  fl^iv- 
Itbink- 
11 11  the 

next 
|w,  but 

yonr 
;hould 

hope, 

t  else- 
je,  thy 


(iciif'nil  Montcdlin. 


EY. 


AS  VAIN  AS  ABSALOM. 


85 


P.  S. — Sinoo  tlio  above  whs  written  wo  liiivc  visited 
the  (lenenil.  Hotli  Monsii'iir  Doltiiiro  and  Ciiptuin 
^fo^ly  vvLTo  })ro8ent,  but  ncitluT  took  inucli  note  of  me — 
Monsieur  Doltiiire  not  at  all.  Tliose  two  eitlier  Imte  csieli 
other  lovin^dy,  or  love  hatefully,  1  know  not  which,  they 
are  so  biting,  yet  so  friendly  to  each  other's  cleverness, 
though  their  style  of  word-play  is  so  different:  Monsieur 
Doltaire'd  like  a  hodkin-point,  ('a})tain  Moray's  like  a 
nujsket-stock  a-clubbing.  Be  not  surjiriscd  to  see  the 
British  at  our  gates  any  day.  'JMiough  we  shall  beat 
them  back  I  shall  feel  no  less  easy  because  I  have  a 
friend  in  the  enemy's  camj) !  You  may  guess  who.  Do 
not  smile.  He  is  old  cnoucjh  to  be  my  fatlicr.  lie  said  so 
liimself  six  months  ago.  Alixe. 


VIII. 


AS   VAIX   AS   ABSALOM. 

Gabord,  coming  in  to  me  one  day  after  I  had  lain 
down  to  sleep,  said,  "  See,  m'sieu'  the  dormouse,  'tis  holi- 
day-eve ;  the  King's  sport  oomes  to-morrow." 

I  sat  up  in  bed  with  a  start,  for  I  know  not  but  that 
my  death  had  been  decided  on  without  trial ;  and  yet  on 
second  thought  I  was  sure  this  could  not  be,  for  every 
rule  of  military  conduct  was  against  it. 

"Whose  holiday?"  asked  I  after  a  moment;  "and 
what  is  King's  sport  ?  " 

"  You're  to  play  bear  in  the  streets  to-morrow — which 
is  sport  for  the  King,"  he  retorted ;  "  we  lead  you  by  a 
rope,  and  you  dance  the  quickstep  to  })lease  our  ladies  all 
the  way  to  the  Chateau,  where  they  bring  bear  to  drum- 
head." 

"  Who  sits  behind  the  drum  ?  "  I  questioned. 
7 


80 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MICIITY, 


"  Tlio  Miirqui.s  ilc  N'uudrcuil,"  he  replied,  "  tlio  In- 
tendunt,  Muster  J)evil  Dultaire,  and  the  little  men."  \\y 
theso  hist  he  meant  ollieers  of  the  eoloniul  soldiery. 

« 

So,  then,  at  last  I  was  to  he  tiieil,  to  ho  dealt  with  defi- 
nitely on  the  ahominahle  ehari^e.     I  should  at  least  again 
e  liirht  and  hreathe  fresh  air,  and  feel  ahout  me  the  stir 


81 
0 


f  tl 


le  woi 


Id.     For  a  lon<r  vear  I  had  heard  no  voice  hut 


my  own  and  (iahord's,  had  had  no  fiieiitls  hut  my  pale 
blades  of  corn  and  a  timid  mouse,  day  after  day  no  light 
Jit  all;  and  now  winter  was  at  hand  again,  and  without 
lire  and  with  poor  food  my  body  was  chilled  and  starved. 
I  had  had  no  news  of  the  woilil,  nor  of  her  who  was  dear 
to  me,  nor  of  Juste  Duvarney,  save  that  he  lived,  nor  of 
our  cause.  Hut  succeeding  the  thrill  of  delight  I  had  at 
thought  of  seeing  the  open  world  again  there  came  a  feel- 
ing of  lassitude,  of  indiU'erence ;  1  shrank  from  the  jar  of 
activity.  But  presently  I  got  upon  my  feet,  and  with  a  lit- 
tle air  of  drollery  straightened  out  my  clothes  and  flicked  a 
handkerchief  across  mv  gaiters.  Then  I  twisted  mvhead 
over  my  shoulder  as  if  I  were  noting  the  shape  of  my 
back  and  the  set  of  my  clothes  in  a  mirror,  and  thrust  a 
leg  out  in  the  manner  of  an  exquisite.  I  had  need  to  do 
some  mocking  thing  at  the  moment,  or  I  should  have 
given  way  to  tears  like  a  woman,  so  suddenly  weak  had  I 
become. 

(Jabord  burst  out  laughing. 

CD  I    > 

An  idea  came  to  me.  "  I  must  be  fine  to-morrow," 
said  I.  "  I  must  not  shame  my  jailer."  I  rubbed  my 
beard — I  had  none  when  I  came  into  this  dungeon  first. 

"  Alio  !  "  said  he,  his  eves  wheeling. 

I  knew  he  understood  mc.  I  did  not  speak,  but  kept 
on  running  my  fingers  through  my  beard. 

"  As  vain  as  Absalom,"  he  added.  "  Do  you  think 
they'll  hang  you  by  the  hair  ?  " 

"  I'd  have  it  off,"  said  I,  "  to  be  clean  for  the  sacrifice." 


/ 


'the  In- 
Ml."  liy 
y. 

villi  di'fi- 
ist  ji'^iiiu 
e  till'  stir 
roicu  but 
my  palo 
IK)  liL;lit 
without 
[  stiirvi-'d. 
was  dear 
(1,  nor  of 
1  had  at 
lie  i\  fcel- 
th(j  jar  of 
vith  a  lit- 
I  llicked  a 
luy  head 
)e  of  my 
thrust  a 
leod  to  do 
luld  have 
ak  had  I 


?j 


iiorrow, 
)bed  my 
In  first. 

)ut  kept 

[u  think 

icrifice." 


AS  VAIX   AS  AIISALUM. 


87 


"  You  had  Vohan  before,"  lie  rejoiiu'd  ;  "  we  know  what 
happened — a  dainty  bit  of  a  lelttr  all  rose-lily  scented, 
and  eonilits  for  the  soldier.  'I'he  pretty  wren  perches 
now  in  the  (iovernor's  house — a-cousiniu^,  a-cousinin<;. 
'I'hink  you  it  is  that  she  may  <j:ct  a  ^dimpse  of  nTsieu'  the 
dormouse  as  he  eonies  to  trial  ?  J»ut  'lis  lu)  business  o' 
mine;  anil  if  1  bi'ing  my  prisoner  up  when  called  for, 
there's  duty  done  !  " 

I  saw  the  friendly  spirit  in  the  words. 

''  Voban,''  urged  I,  "  Voban  nuiy  come  to  me?" 

"  The  Intendant  said  no,  but  the  (Jovernor  yes,"  was 
the  replv  ;  "and  that  M'sieu'  Doltaire  is  not  vet  come 
back  from  Montreal,  so  he  had  no  voice.  They  look  for 
him  here  to-morrow." 

"  Voban  mav  come?"  I  a;>ke(l  a'^ain. 

"At  davbreak  Voban — aho  ! "  he  continued.  "  There's 
milk  and  honey  to-morrow,"  lie  added,  and  then,  without 
a  word,  he  drew  forth  from  liis  coat,  and  hurriedly  thrust 
into  my  hands,  a  piece  of  meat  and  a  small  'Ihisk  of  wine, 
und,  swinging  round  like  a  schoolboy  afraid  of  being 
cauglit  in  a  misdemeanor,  he  passed  through  the  door  and 
the  bolts  clanged  after  liim.  lie  left  the  torch  behind 
him,  stuck  in  the  cleft  of  the  wall. 

I  sat  down  on  my  couch,  and  for  a  moment  gazed 
almost  vacantly  at  the  meat  and  wine  in  my  hands.  I 
had  not  touched  either  for  a  year,  and  now  I  could  see 
that  mv  fingers,  as  thev  closed  on  the  food  nervouslv, 
were  thin  and  bloodless,  and  I  realized  that  mv  clothes 
hung  loose  upon  my  i)erson.  Here  were  light,  meat,  and 
wine,  and  there  was  a  pie(;e  of  bread  on  the  board  cover- 
ing my  water-jar.  Luxury  was  spread  before  me,  but 
although  I  had  eaten  little  all  dav  I  was  not  hungrv. 
Presently,  however,  I  took  the  knife  which  I  had  hidden 
a  year  before,  and  cut  pieces  of  the  meat  and  laid  them 
by  the  bread.     Then  I  drew  the  cork  from  the  bottle  of 


88 


THE  SKATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY 


wine,  jiiid,  liftin;:^  it  towards  that   facn  which  was  always 
visible!  to  my  8011I  I  dratik — drank— drank  ! 

Tile  ri(!li  li(|iior  swam  tlir»)iii,di  my  vrins  like  glorious 
fire.  It  wakened  mv  l)rain  and  ncrvetl  mv  l)odv.  'i'lie 
old  sprin;;  of  life  came  back.  This  wine  iiad  come  from 
tlio  hands  of  Alixe — from  the  (lovernor's  store,  mayl)e ; 
for  never  could  (lal)ord  iiave  f^'(»t  such  stull.  1  ate  jjcartily 
of  the  ricli  bei'f  and  bread  witii  a  new-made  a|)[)etite, 
and  drank  the  rest  of  the  wine.  Wiieii  I  liad  eaten  and 
drunk  tlie  last  I  sat  and  looked  at  the  glowin<;  torch,  and 
felt  a  sort  of  comfort  eree])  tlirouirli  me.  'I'iien  tlicre 
camo  a  deli;^^iitful  thou^dit.  Months  a;j:o  I  liad  put  away 
one  last  i)ipefid  of  tobacco,  to  save  it  till  some  day  when  1 
should  need  it  most.  I  got  it  now,  anil  no  man  can  guess 
how  lovingly  I  held  it  to  a  Hying  llame  of  the  torch,  saw 
it  light,  and  blew  out  the  lirst  whill'  of  smoke  into  the 
sombre  air;  for  November  was  [igain  piercing  this  under- 
grouiul  house  of  mine,  another  winter  was  at  hand  !  I  sat 
and  smoked,  and — can  you  not  guess  my  thoughts?  For 
have  you  all  not  the  same  hearts,  Ixjing  British  born  and 
bred?  When  I  had  taken  the  last  whilf,  I  wrapi)ed  my- 
self in  my  cloak  and  went  to  sleep.  lUit  twice  or  thrico 
during  the  night  I  waked  to  see  the  torch  still  shining, 
and  caught  the  fragrance  of  consuming  pine,  and  minded 
not  at  all  the  smoke  the  burning  made. 


IX. 


A  LITTLE  COXCERXTXG  THE  rilEVALIER  DE  LA  DARANTE 

I  WAS  wakened  comjjletely  at  last  by  the  shooting  ol 
bolts.  With  the  opening  of  the  door  I  saw  the  figures  of 
Gabord  and  Voban.  My  little  friend  the  mouse  saw  them 
also,  and  scampered  from  the  bread  it  had  been  eating. 


CONC'KUNIXG   TllH  CHEVALIER   DE  LA   DARAXTE.     89 


3  alwayfl 

glorious 
ly.  Tho 
UK!  from 

niavlK' ; 
'  lu'urtily 
iipiK'tito, 
itcii  and 
)n'l»,  ami 
en  tluTO 
put  away 
y  wIr'U  I 
3an  ^uoss 
orc'li,  saw 

into  the 
lis  uiulcr- 
(1 !     I  sat 

tsV  For 
born  and 

)ped  my- 

or  thrico 

shinino^, 
minded 


IVRANTR 

Noting  ol 

igures  of 

liw  them 

eating. 


iiwav  amonc:  tlio  Porn,  througli  whicli  mv  footsteps  liad  now 
made  two  rectangular  paths,  not  disregarded  by  (Jaliord, 
who  solicitously  pulled  \'ol»an  into  tho  narrow  track  that 
lie  should  not  trespass  o!i  my  harvest. 

1   rose,  showc(l   wo  piirticular  delight  at  seeing  Voban, 
but  greeted  him  easily — though  !iiy  heart  was  bursting  to 
f  Ali.xe— and  arraJi^etl  mv  (dothes.     Presently 


a 


ik   1 


um  o 


(iabord  said,  ''Stools  for   barber,"  and,  wdu'cling,  ho  left 


the  (hmireon. 


lie   was  jrono  onlv  an   instant,  but  long 


enou'di  for  Voban  to  thrust  a  letter  into  my  hand,  wd»i(di 
1  ran  into  the  lining  of  my  waistcoat  as  1  whispered, 
*'  Her  brother — he  is  well?" 

"  Well,  and  he  have  go  to  France,"  he  answered.  "  She 
make  me  say,  look  to  the  round  window  in  the  (.'hateau 
I'ront 


?> 


We  spoke  in  English— which,  as  I  have  said,  Voban 
understood  imperfectly.  There  was  nothing  more  said, 
and  if  (Jabord,  when  he  returned,  suspected,  he  showed 
no  siffn,  but  i)ut  down  two  stools,  seating  himself  on  one. 


as 


I  seated  mvself  on  the  other  for  Voban 's  handiwor 


IV. 


Presently  a  soldier  api)earcd  with  a  bowl  of  coiree.  (Jabord 
rose,  took  it  from  him,  waved  him  away,  and  handed  it 
to  mo.  Never  did  cofTee  taste  so  sweet,  atid  I  sip})ed  and 
sipped  till  Voban  had  ended  his  work  with  me.  Then  I 
drained  the  last  drop  and  stood  up.  He  handed  mo  a 
mirror,  and  fJabord,  fetching  a  fine  white  handkerchief 
from  his  po(;ket,  said,  "Here's  for  your  tears,  when  they 
drum  vou  to  heaven,  dickey-bird." 


But  when  I  saw  mv  face  in  the  mirror  T  confess  \ 


was 


startled.  My  hair,  whi(di  had  been  black,  was  })lentifully 
sprinkled  with  white,  my  face  was  intensely  })ale  and  thin, 
and  the  eyes  were  sunk  in  dark  hollows.  I  should  not 
have  recognised  mvself.  Uut  I  laui::hed  as  I  handed  back 
the  glass,  and  said,  "All  ilesh  is  grass,  but  a  dungeon's  uo 
good  meadow." 


90 


THE  SKATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


""Pis  for  the  dry  (-'liiilT,"  (liiboril  uiiswerod,  "not  for 
yoiii\!jf  '^viiss — ;iho  !  " 

llo  rose  anil  nmdo  ready  to  loiive,  Vohun  with  biin. 
'-'■  Tlio  coiiiinissiiriat  cjunprf  Irtu  in  an  hour  or  so,"  he  said, 
with  a  ri[)e  chiickU'. 

It  was  (dear  the  lunv  state  of  alTairs  was  more  to  his 
mind  than  the  long  year's  rigour  and  silence.  During 
ail  that  tiuu!  1  never  was  visited  by  Dcjhaire  but  once,  and 
of  that  event  1  am  about  to  write  briellv  liere. 


It  was  about  two  months  before  this  i)articidar  morn- 
ing that  he  came,  greeting  mo  courteously  enough. 

"Close  quarters  here,"  said  he,  looking  round  as  if 
the  place  wer  ■  new  to  liini  and  smiling  to  himself. 

"  Not  so  close  as  .wo  all  come  to  one  dav ,"  said  I. 

"  Dismal  comparison  !  "  lie  rejoined  ;  "  yoirve  h)st  your 
spirits." 

"  Xot  so,"  I  retorted  ;  "  nothing  but  my  liberty." 

"You  know  the  way  to  find  it  quickly,"  he  suggested. 

"  The  letters  for  La  Pompadour?  "  I  asked. 

"  A  dead  man's  waste  ])apcrs,"  responded  he  ;  "  of  no 
nse  to  him  or  vou,  or  to  anv  one  save  the  Grande  Mar- 
quise." 

"Valuable  to  me,"  said  I. 

"  Xone  but  the  Crande  ^farquise  and  the  writer  would 
give  you  a  penny  for  them  !  " 

"  Why  should  I  not  be  my  own  merchant?" 

"  You  can — to  me.  If  not  to  me  to  no  one.  You 
had  your  chance  long  ago,  and  you  refused  it.  You  must 
admit  I  dealt  fairly  with  you.  I  did  not  move  till  you 
had  set  your  own  trap  and  fallen  into  it.  Xow,  if  you  do 
not  give  me  the  letters — well,  you  will  give  them  to  none 
else  in  this  world.  It  has  been  a  fair  game,  and  I  am 
winning  now.  I've  oidy  used  means  which  one  gentle- 
man  might  use   with   another.     Had  you  been  a  lesser 


CONCERNING   THE  CIIEVAUER  DE  LA  DARANTE.     Ql 


'  not  for 

th  hi  in. 
he  said, 

e  to  his 

During 

nee,  and 


ir  niorn- 

1, 

id   us  if 

I. 

lost  your 

Qfirested. 

"  of  no 
0  Mar- 


r  would 


You 
)u  must 
till  you 
you  do 
po  none 
I  am 
[gentle- 
lesser 


man  I  should  have  had  you  spitted  long  ago.  You  un- 
derstand ?  " 

"IVrfectlv.  But  sinoo  we  have  idaved  so  lonjr,  do 
yon  think  Fll  give;  you  the  stakes  now — hefore  tlie  end?" 

"  Ft  would  be  wiser,"  he  answered  thoughtfully. 

"I  have  a  nation  behind  me,"  urged  1. 

"  It  has  left  you  in  a  hole  here  to  rot." 

"  It  will  take  over  vour  citadel  and  din:  me  out  some 
day,"  I  retorted  hotly. 

"•What  good  that?  Your  life  is  more  to  you  than 
Quebec  to  England." 

"  Xo,  no,"  said  I  quickly ;  "  I  would  give  my  life  a 
hundred  times  to  see  your  Hag  hauled  down  !  " 

'•  A  freakish  ambition,"  he  replied  ;  "  mere  infatua- 
tion !  " 

"  You  do  not  nnderstand  it,  Monsieur  Doltaire,"  I  re- 
marked ironically. 

"  I  love  not  endless  puzzles.  There  is  no  sport  in 
following  a  maze  that  leads  to  nowhere  save  the  grave." 
lie  yawned.  "  This  air  is  heavy,"  he  added  ;  "you  must 
find  it  trving." 

"  Xever  so  trying  as  at  this  moment,"  I  retorted. 

"Come,  am  I  so  malarious?" 

"  You  are  a  trickster,"  I  answered  coldly. 

"  Ah,  vou  mean  that  niirht  at  Biirot's?"  He  smiled. 
"  Xo,  no,  you  were  to  blame — so  green.  You  might  have 
known  we  were  for  having  you  bctweeii  the  stones." 

"  But  it  did  not  come  out  as  you  wished?"  hinted  I. 

"  It  served  my  turn,"  he  responded  ;  and  he  gave  me 
such  a  S!niling,  malicious  look  that  I  knew  he  sought  to 
convev  he  had  his  wav  with  Alixc;  and  thouirh  I  felt  that 
she  was  true  to  me  bis  cool  presumption  so  stirred  me  1 
could  have  struck  him  in  the  face.  I  irot  angrilv  to  mv 
feet,  but  as  I  did  so  I  shrank  a  little,  for  at  times  the 
wound  in  my  side,  not  yet  entirely  healed,  hurt  me. 


92 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


"  You  are  not  well,"  he  Siiid,  with  instant  show  of 
curiosity  ;  "your  wounds  still  trouble  you?  They  should 
be  healed.     (Jabord  was  ordered  to  see  you  cared  for." 

"  Gabord  has  done  well  enough,"  answered  I.  "  1  have 
had  wouiuls  before,  monsieur." 

lie  leaned  agaiust  tlie  wall  ,nd  lauglied.  "  "What 
braggarts  you  Euglish  are  !  "  he  said.  "  A  race  of  swash- 
bucklers— even  on  bread  and  water  I  " 

lie  had  mo  at  advantage,  and  I  knew  it,  for  he  had 
kept  liis  temper.  1  made  an  ellort.  "  Both  excellent," 
rejoined  I,  "and  English,  too." 

lie  lauglied  again.  "  Come,  that  is  better.  That's  in 
your  old  vein.  1  love  to  see  you  so.  But  how  knew  you 
our  baker  was  English? — which  he  is,  a  prisoner  like 
yourself." 

"  As  easily  as  I  could  tell  the  water  was  not  made  by 
Fronclnnen." 

"Xow  I  have  hope  of  you,"  he  broke  out  gaily;  "you 
will  yet  redeem  your  nation." 

At  that  moment  Gabord  came  with  a  messaire  from 
the  Governor  to  Doltairo,  and  he  prepared  to  go. 

"You  arc  set  on  sacrifice?"  he  asked.  "Think— 
dangling  from  Cape  Diamond  !  " 

"  1  will  meditate  on  your  fate  instead,"  I  replied. 

"Think!"  he  said  again,  weaving  off  my  answer  with 
Ills  haiui.  "  The  letters  1  shall  no  more  ask  for;  and  you 
will  not  escape  death  ?  " 

"  N"ever  by  that  way,"  rejoined  I. 

"So.  Very  good.  An  phtisir,  my  cuiiUiin.  I  go  to 
dine  at  the  Seigneur  Duvarney's." 

AVith  that  last  thrust  he  was  gone,  and  left  me  won- 
dering if  the  Seigneur  had  ever  made  an  effort  to  see  me, 
if  he  had  forgiven  the  duel  with  his  son. 

That  was  the  incident. 


sliow  of 
y  should 
for." 
"  1  luive 

"  What 

if  SWilsll- 

r  ho  luid 
cc'Uent," 

Huit's  in 
new  yon 
ner   like 

made  by 

^;  "yon 

(TO  from 

1iink— 

kl. 

^er  with 
md  yon 


|I  go  to 


le  won- 
Isee  me, 


CONCERNING  THE  CHEVALIER  DE  LA  DARANTE.     93 

When  Clubord  and  V^oban  were  gone,  leaving  the  light 
behind,  I  went  over  to  the  torch  in  the  wall,  and  drew 
Alixe's  letter  from  my  pocket  with  eager  lingers.  It  told 
the  whole  story  of  her  heart. 

CiiATKAi'  St.  Loris,  .?7fk  Xovemhcr,  17'>7. 

Though  I  write  you  these  few  words,  dear  Robert,  I 
do  not  know  that  they  will  reach  you,  for  as  yet  it  is  not 
certain  they  will  let  \'oban  visit  you.  A  year,  dear 
friend,  and  not  a  word  from  you,  and  not  a  word  to  yon  ! 
I  should  have  broken  my  heart  if  I  had  not  heard  of  you 
one  wav  and  another.  They  sav  you  are  much  worn  in 
body,  though  you  have  always  a  cheerful  air.  There  are 
stories  of  a  visit  Monsieur  Doltaire  paid  you,  and  how 
yon  jested.  lie  hates  you,  and  yet  he  admires  you 
too. 

And  now  listen,  Robert,  and  1  beg  yon  not  to  be 
angry — oh,  do  not  be  angry,  for  1  am  all  yours  ;  but  I 
want  to  tell  yon  that  I  have  not  repulsed  ^lonsieur  Dol- 
taire when  he  has  spoken  flatteries  to  me.  I  have  not 
believed  them,  and  I  have  kept  my  spirit  strong  against 
tlie  evil  in  him.  I  want  to  get  yon  free  of  prison  and  to 
that  end  1  have  to  work  through  him  with  the  Intendant, 
that  he  will  not  set  the  CJovernor  more  against  you. 
With  tlie  Intendant  himself  I  will  not  deal  at  all.  So  I 
use  the  lesser  villain,  and  in  trutli  the  more  powei'ful,  for 
he  stands  higher  at  Versailles  tlian  any  here.  Witli  tlie 
Governor  I  have  influence,  for  he  is,  as  you  know,  a  kins- 
man of  my  mother's,  and  of  late  ho  has  sliown  Ji  fondness 
for  me.  Yet  you  can  see  that  I  mnst  act  most  warily, 
that  I  must  not  seem  to  care  for  you,  for  that  would  be 
your  complete  undo"  ng.  1  rather  seem  to  scofl'.  (Oh,  how 
it  hurts  me!  how  my  cheeks  tingle  when  I  think  of  it 
alone !  and  how  I  clench  my  hands,  hating  them  all  for 
oppressing  you  !) 


94: 


THE  SEATS  OP  THE  MIGHTY. 


I  do  not  believe  tlieir  sliuiders — tlnit  you  are  a  spy. 
It  is  I,  Robert,  who  liave  at  last  iiidiu^ed  the  (Governor  to 
brin^^  you  to  trial.  They  would  have  i)ut  it  o(T  till  next 
year,  but  1  feared  you  would  die  in  that  awful  dun^'oon, 
and  I  was  sure  that  if  your  trial  cauie  on  there  would  be  a 
chan<j^(;,as  there  is  to  be  for  a  time,  at  least.  "^^)u  are  to  be 
lodi,a'd  in  the  comniou  jail  duriui^  the  sittiuirof  the  court ; 
and  so  that  is  one  step  gained.  Yet  1  had  to  use  all  man- 
ner of  device  with  the  Governor. 

lie  is  sometimes  so  playful  with  nu'  that  I  can  ])retend 
to  sulkiness ;  and  so  one  day  J  said  that  he  showed  no  re- 
gard  for  our  family  or  for  nie  in  not  brin2:inij  you,  who 
liad  nearly  killed  my  brother,  to  justice.  8o  he  consented, 
and  being  of  a  stubborn  nature,  too,  when  Monsieur  Dol- 
taire  and  the  Inteiuhmt  opposed  the  trial,  he  said  it  should 
come  off  at  once.  But  one  thing  grieves  me  :  they  are  to 
have  you  marched  through  the  streets  of  the  town  like 
any  common  criminal,  and  I  dare  show  no  distress  nor 
plead,  nor  can  my  father,  though  he  wishes  to  move  for 
you  in  this;  and  I  dare  not  urge  him,  for  then  it  would 
seem  strange  the  daughter  asked  your  i)unishment,  and 
the  father  sousjht  to  lessen  it. 

When  you  are  in  the  common  jail  it  will  bo  much 
easier  to  help  you.  I  have  seen  (Jabord,  but  he  is  not  to 
be  bent  to  any  purpose,  though  he  is  kind  to  me.  I  shall 
try  once  more  to  have  him  take  some  wine  aiul  meat  to 
you  to-night.  If  I  fail,  then  I  shall  only  pray  that  you 
may  be  iriven  strength  in  body  for  your  time  of  trouble 
equal  to  your  courage. 

It  may  be  I  cm  fix  upon  a  point  where  you  may  look 
to  see  me  as  you  jiass  on  to-morrow  to  the  Chateau.  There 
must  be  a  sign.  If  you  will  put  your  hand  to  your  fore- 
head      But  no,  they  may  bind  you,  aiul   your  hands 

may  not  be  free.  When  you  see  me,  pause  in  your  step 
for  an  instant,  and  I  shall  know.    I  will  tell  Voban  where 


COXCERNIXO   THE  CHEVALIER  DE  LA  DARAXTE.     <J5 


a  spy. 
•nor  to 
11  next 
ngcon, 
!d  be  ;i 
•e  to  be 
court ; 
.1  mau- 

)retcnd 

no  rc- 

iii,  who 

sen  ted, 

ir  Dol- 

sliould 

f  lire  to 

,vn  like 

less  nor 

ove  for 

would 

it,  and 

niucli 
not  to 
I  shall 
leat  to 
at  you 
;rouble 

ly  look 
There 

Ir  fore- 
hands 
ir  step 
where 


J 


you  shall  send  your  glance,  if  he  is  to  be  li't  in  to  you,  and 
I  liope  that  what  1  plan  may  not  fail. 

And  so,  Robert,  adieu.  Time  can  not  chan«:je  me,  and 
your  misfortunes  draw  me  closer  to  you.  Only  the  dis- 
honourable thinuf  could  make  nu'  close  the  doors  of  my 
heart,  aiul  I  will  not  think  you,  whatc'er  they  siiy,  un- 
worthy of  my  constant  faith.  Sonu'  dtiy,  maybe,  we  shall 
smile  at  and  even  cherish  these  sad  times.  In  this  gay 
house  I  must  be  flippant,  for  I  am  now  of  the  foolish 
world  !  Vnxt  under  all  the  trivial  sparkle  a  serious  heart 
beats.  It  belongs  to  thee,  if  thou  wilt  have  it,  Robert,  the 
heart  of  thy  Alixh. 

An  hour  after  getting  this  good  letter  (Jabord  came 
acfiiin,  and  with  him  breakfast — a  word  which  1  had  al- 
most  droj^ped  from  my  language.  True,  it  was  only  in  a 
dungeon,  on  a  pair  of  stools,  by  the  light  of  a  torch,  but 
how  I  relished  it ! — a  bottle  of  good  wine,  a  piece  of  broiled 
fish,  the  half  of  a  fowl,  and  some  tender  vegetables. 

When  (Jabord  came  for  me  with  two  soldiers,  an  hour 
later — I  say  an  hour,  Init  I  oidy  guessed  so,  for  1  had  no 
way  of  noting  time — I  was  ready  for  new  cares,  and  to 
see  the  world  ai^ain.  Ik' fore  the  others  Oabord  was  the 
rough,  almost  brutal  soldier,  and  soon  I  knew  that  I  was 
to  be  driven  out  upon  the  St.  Foye  Road  and  on  into  the 
town.  i\Iy  arms  were  well  fastened  down,  and  I  was  tied 
about  till  I  must  have  looked  like  a  bale  of  living  goods 
of  no  great  value.  Indeed,  my  clothes  were  by  no  means 
handsome,  and  save  for  my  well-shaven  face  aiul  clean 
liandkerchief  I  was  an  ill-favoured  spectacle ;  but  I  tried 
to  bear  my  shoulders  up  as  we  marched  tlirough  dark  reek- 
ing corridors,  and  presently  came  suddenly  into  well-lighted 
passages. 

I  had  to  pause,  for  the  light  blinded  my  eyes,  and  they 
hurt  me  horribly,  so  delicate  were  the  nerves.     For  some 


90 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


minutes  I  stood  tlierc,  my  guards  stolidly  waiting,  CJjibord 
muttering  a  little  and  stamping  upc^n  the  lloor  as  if  in 
anger,  though  1  knew  he  was  i)laying  a  small  part  to  de- 
ceive his  comrades.  'J'iie  pain  in  my  eyes  grew  less,  and, 
though  they  kei)t  lllling  witli  moisture  from  the  violence 
of  the  light  I  soon  could  see  without  distress. 

I  was  led  into  the  yard  of  the  citadel,  where  was  drawn 
up  a  company  of  soldiers.  (Jabord  bade  me  stand  still, 
and  advanced  toward  the  ofTicers'  quarters.  I  asked  him  if 
I  might  not  walk  to  the  ram})arts  aiul  view  the  scene. 
lie  gruflly  assented,  bidding  the  men  watch  me  closely, 
and  1  walked  over  to  a  point  where,  standing  three  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  noble  river,  I  could  look  out  upon  its 
sweet  expanse,  across  to  tiie  Levis  shore  with  its  serried 
legions  of  trees  behind  and  its  bold  settlement  in  front 
upon  the  Heights.  There,  eastward,  lay  the  well- wooded 
Island  of  Orleans,  and  over  all  the  clear  sun  aiul  sky,  en- 
livened by  a  crisp  and  cheering  air.  Snow  had  fallen,  but 
none  now  lay  upon  the  ground,  and  I  saw  a  rare  and  win- 
ning earth.  I  stood  absorbed.  I  was  recalling  that  first 
day  of  my  life  that  I  remember,  when  at  Balmore  my 
grandfather  made  prophecies  upon  me,  and  for  the  first 
time  I  was  conscious  of  the  world. 

As  I  stood  lost  to  evervthino^  about  me,  I  heard  Dol- 
taire's  voice,  and  presently  he  said  over  my  shoulder,  "  To 
wish  Captain  Moray  a  good-morning  were  superfluous  !  " 

I  smiled  at  him  :  the  pleasure  of  that  scene  had  given 
me  an  impulse  towards  good  nature  even  with  my  ene- 
mies. 

"  The  best  I  ever  hnd,"  I  answered  quietly. 

"  Contrasts  are  life's  delights,"  he  said.  "  You  should 
thnnk  us.  You  have  your  best  day  because  of  our  worst 
dungeon." 

"  But  my  thanks  shall  not  be  in  words ;  you  shall 
have  the  same  courtesy  at  our  hands  one  day." 


Ciiibord 
IS  if  in 
to  do- 
ss, and, 
iolenco 

!  drawn 
id  still, 

I  him  if 
!  scene, 
closely, 
)e  luin- 
ipon  its 

serried 
n  front 
wooded 
sky,  en- 
len,  but 
id  win- 
at  first 
ore  my 
le  first 

d  Dol- 
pr,  "  To 

oils  ! " 

II  given 
nv  ene- 


slionld 
worst 

u  shall 


CONCERNING  THE  CHEVALIER  DE  LA   DARAXTE.     97 

"  I  had  the  Bastile  for  a  year,"  he  rejoined,  calling  up 
a  squad  of  men  with  his  finger  as  he  spoke.  "  I  have  had 
my  best  day.  Two  would  be  monotony.  You  think  your 
English  will  take  this  sorue  tinie?"  he  asked,  waving  a 
fiuger  toward  the  citadel.  "  It  will  need  good  ])lay  to 
pluck  that  ribbon  from  its  place."  Jle  glanced  up,  as  ho 
spoke,  at  the  white  Hag  with  its  golden  lilies. 

"  So  much  the  better  sport,"  I  answered.  "  We  will 
have  the  ribbon  and  its  heritage." 

"  You  yourself  shall  furnish  evidence  to-day.  Gabord 
here  will  see  you  temjitiiigly  disposed — the  wild  bull  led 
peaceably  by  the  nose  ! " 

"  liut  one  day  I  will  twist  your  nose,  Monsieur  Dol- 

t*     ?5 
aire. 

"  That  is  fair  enough,  if  rude,"  he  responded.  "  When 
your  turn  comes  you  twist  and  I  endure.  You  shall  be 
nourished  well  like  me,  and  I  shall  look  a  battered  hulk 
like  you.  But  I  shall  never  be  the  fool  that  you  are.  If 
I  had  a  way  to  sli])  the  leash  Fd  sliji  it.  You  are  a  dolt." 
lie  was  touching  upon  the  letters  again. 

"  I  W'cifjh  it  all,"  said  I.  "  I  am  no  fool — anvthins: 
else  you  will." 

"  YouUl  be  nothing  soon,  I  fear — which  is  a  pity." 

"What  more  he  might  have  said  I  do  not  know,  but 
there  now  appeared  in  the  yard  a  tall,  reverend  old  gen- 
tleman, in  the  costume  of  the  coureur  de  bois,  though  his 
belt  was  richly  chased,  and  he  wore  an  order  on  his  breast. 
There  was  something  more  relined  than  powerful  in  his 
appearance,  but  he  had  a  keen,  kindly  eye,  and  a  manner 
unmistakably  superior.  His  dress  was  a  little  barbarous, 
unlike  Doltaire's  splendid  white  uniform  set  off  with 
violet  and  gold,  the  lace  of  a  tine  handkerchief  sticking 
from  his  belt,  and  a  gold-handled  sword  at  his  side,  but 
the  manner  of  both  was  distinguished. 

Seeing  Doltaire,  he  came  forward  and  they  embraced. 


98 


rv 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


Then  he  tiiniod  towards  mo,  aiul  as  they  walked  o(T  a  little 
distance  I  eoiild  see  tiiat  he  was  curiuiis  coneeniiiig  nie. 
Presently  he  nuscd  his  hand,  and,  as  if  something  had 
excited  him,  said,  "  NO,  no,  no;  liang  him  and  have  done 
with  it,  bnt  Til  iiave  nothing  to  do  with  it — not  a  thing. 
'Tis  enongli  for  me  to  rnle  at " 

I  couhl  hear  no  further,  but  1  was  now  sure  that  he 
was  some  one  of  note  who  had  retired  from  any  share  in 
state  alTairs.  lie  and  Doltaire  thun  moved  on  to  the  doors 
of  the  citadel,  and,  pausing  there,  Doltaire  turned  round 
and  made  a  motion  of  his  hand  to  (Jabord.  1  was  at  once 
surrounded  by  the  squad  of  men,  and  the  order  to  march 
was  given.  A  drum  in  front  of  me  began  to  play  a  well- 
known  derisive  air  of  the  French  army.  The  Fox  and  the 
Wolf. 

We  came  out  on  the  St.  Foye  Road  and  down  towards 
the  Chatean  St.  Louis,  between  crowds  of  shouting  people 
who  beat  drums,  kettles,  pans,  and  made  all  manner  of 
mocking  noises.  It  was  meant  not  only  against  myself, 
but  against  the  liritisii  peoi)le.  The  women  were  not 
behind  the  men  in  violence ;  from  them  all  at  first  came 
handfuls  of  gravel  and  dust  which  struck  me  in  the  face; 
but  Gabord  put  a  stop  to  that. 

It  was  a  shameful  ordeal,  which  might  have  vexed  me 
sorely  if  I  had  not  had  greater  trials  and  expected  worse. 
Now  and  again  ai)peared  a  face  I  knew — some  lady  who 
turned  her  head  away,  or  some  gentleman  who  watched 
me  curiously  but  made  no  sign. 

When  we  came  to  the  Chateau,  I  looked  up  as  if  casu- 
ally, and  there  in  a  little  round  window  I  saw  Alixe's 
face — for  an  instant  only.  I  stopped  in  my  tracks,  was 
prodded  by  a  soldier  from  behind,  and  then  stepped  on. 
Entering:,  we  were   taken  to  the  rear   of   the  buildincr 


'&» 


to' 


where,  in  an  open  courtyard,  were  a  company  of  soldiers, 
some  seats,  and  a  table.     On  my  right  was  the  St.  Law- 


ti  little 
iig  me. 
ig  hud 
e  dune 
,  thing. 


:h{it  he 
hare  in 
0  doors 
[  round 
at  once 
>  nvdwh 
a  well- 
ind  the 

towards 
■  people 
mcr  of 
nivself, 
;ro   not 


•t 


came 
face ; 


xed  me 
worse. 
y  who 
atched 

f  casn- 
xVlixe's 
vs,  was 
od  on. 
ilding, 
)ldiers, 
Law- 


's 


CONCERNINU   TIIK  CIIHVALIKR  I)K   LA   DAKANTK.     09 

rcnce  swelling  on   its  course,  hundreds  of   fei't  benealh, 
little  boats  passing  hitlier  and  thither  on  its  Hood. 

We  were  wailing  for  ahout  hall'  an  hour,  the  noises  of 
the  clamouring  crowd  coming  to  us,  as  they  carried  me 
aloft  in  elllgy,  and,  l)urning  me  at  the  el  ill"  edge,  lired 
guns  and  threw  stones  at  me,  till,  rags,  ashes,  and  llame,  I 
was  tumbled  into  the  river  far  below.  At  last  from  the 
Chateau  came  the  Mar^piis  de  ♦'audreuil,  IJigot,  and  a 
number  of  olhcers.  'I'lie  (iuvernor  looked  gravely  at  mo, 
but  did  not  bow;  Jiigot  gave  me  a  sneering  smile,  eying 
me  curiously  the  while,  ami  (I  could  feel),  remarking  on 
my  poor  api)earance  to  Cournal  beside  him — Cournal, 
who  winked  at  his  wife's  dishonour  for  the  favour  of  her 
lover,  who  gave  him  means  for  public  robbery. 

Tresently  the  (fOveriu>r  was  seated,  and  he  said,  look- 
ing round,  "  ^lonsieur  Doltaire — he  is  not  here?" 

Jiigot  shook  his  head,  and  answered,  ">io  doubt  he  is 
detiuned  at  the  citadel." 

"And  the  Seigneur  Duvarney?"  the  Governor  added. 

At  that  nionuMit  the  Governor's  secretary  handed  him 
a  letter.  The  Governor  opened  it.  "Listen,"  said  he. 
lie  read  to  the  effect  that  the  Seigneur  Duvarney  felt 
that  he  was  ill  fitted  to  be  a  judge  in  this  case,  remem- 
bering the  conflict  between  Ins  son  and  the  notorious 
Captain  ]\Ioray.  And  from  another  standpoint,  though 
the  prisoner  merited  any  fate  reserved  for  him,  if  guilty 
of  spying,  he  could  not  foi'get  that  his  life  had  been  saved 
by  this  British  captain — an  obligation  which,  unfortuiuite- 
ly,  he  could  neither  repay  nor  wipe  out.  After  much 
thought,  he  must  disobey  the  Governor's  summons,  and 
he  prayed  that  his  Excellency  would  grant  his  coiisidcra- 
tion  thereupon. 

I  saw  the  (Jovernor  frown,  but  he  made  no  remark, 
while  JMgot  said  something  in  his  ear  which  did  not  im- 
prove his  humour,  for  he  replied  curtly,  and  turned  to  his 


100 


TIIK  SEATS  OF  TIIK   Mir.IITY. 


secretary.  "Wc  imist  luive  two  geiitleiiien  more,"  he 
Buid. 

At  tluit  monu'iit  Doltaire  entered  with  the  old  iiohle- 
niaii  of  whom  1  liave  written.  The  (iovernor  instantly 
brightened,  and  gave  the  stranger  a  warm  greeting,  call- 
ing him  his  "  dear  Chevalier  " ;  and,  after  a  deal  of  nrg- 
ing,  the  Chevalier  de  la  Darante  was  seated  as  one  of  my 
judges:  whi(di  did  not  Jit  all  displease  me,  for  I  liked 
his  face. 

I  do  not  need  to  dwell  upon  the  trial  here.  1  have  set 
down  the  facts  of  the  case  before.  I  had  no  counsel  and 
no  witnessiis.  There  seemed  no  reason  why  the  triid  should 
have  dragged  on  all  day,  for  I  soon  saw  it  was  intended  to 
find  me  guilty.  Yet  J  was  surprised  to  see  how  Doltaire 
brought  u})  a  point  here  and  a  (piestion  there  in  my  favour, 
which  served  to  lengthen  out  the  trial ;  and  all  the  time 
he  sat  near  the  Clievalier  de  la  Darante,  now  and  again 
talking  with  hitn. 

It  was  late  evening  before  the  trial  came  to  a  close. 
The  one  point  to  be  established  was  that  the  letters  taken 
from  (Jeneral  Braddock  were  mine,  and  that  I  had  made 
the  })lans  while  a  hostage.  I  acknowledged  nothing,  and 
would  not  do  so  unless  allowed  to  speak  freely.  This  was 
not  permitted  until  just  before  I  was  sentenced. 

Then  Doltaire's  look  was  fixed  on  me,  and  1  knew  he 
waited  to  see  if  I  would  divulge  the  nuitter  priviite  be- 
tween us.  However,  I  stood  by  my  compact  with  him. 
Besides,  it  could  not  serve  me  to  s])eak  of  it  here,  or  use 
it  as  an  argument,  and  it  would  only  hasten  an  end  which 
I  felt  he  could  prevent  if  he  chose. 

So  when  I  was  asked  if  I  had  aught  to  say  I  pleaded 
only  tliat  they  had  not  kc  i)t  our  Articles  of  War  signed  at 
Fort  Necessity,  which  provided  that  I  slioidd  be  free  with- 
in two  months  and  a  iuUf — that  is,  when  prisoners  in  our 
hands  should  be  delivered  up  to  them,  as  they  were.    They 


"n 


ho 


11  rg- 


\v  lie 

to  ])C- 

liim. 

r  use 

vvliicli 

cadcd 
led  at 

with- 
n  our 

They 


C'0N('I-:KNIN(J    TIIH  ClIKVALIKn   DK   LA    DAUAN'li:.  [[)[ 

liiiil  broken  tlieir  bond,  tlioii;^di  we  had  fuHiUed  ours,  and 
I  lield  myself  justilied  in  doing  wliat  1  had  (h<ne  for  our 
cause  and  for  my  own  life. 

I  was  not  lieard  patiently,  t]ii)u;:h  I  could  see  that  tlio 
(iovernor  and  the  Chevalier  were  ini[)ressed  ;  but  Iii;,^)t 
instantly  nr^^ed  the  i-ase  liotly  a.L^iinst  me,  and  the  end 
came  very  soon.  It  was  now  dark  ;  a  single  li.L,dit  had 
been  brou«;lit  and  placed  beside  the  (iovern  ir,  while  a 
soldier  held  a  torch  at  a  distance.  Suddenly  there  was  a 
silence;  tlu'U,  in  res[)onse  to  a  signal,  tiie  sharp  rin;^in<^' 
of  a  hundred  bayonets  as  they  were  drawn  and  fastened 
to  the  muskets,  and  I  could  see  them  gleaming  in  the 
feeble  torchlight.  Presently  out  of  the  stillness  the  (Jov- 
ernor's  voice  was  heard  condemninfj  me  to  death  bv  iiang- 
ing,  thirty  days  hence  at  sunrise.  Silence  fell  again  in- 
j  stantly,  and  then  a  thing  occurred  whicli  sent  a  thrill 
through  us  all.  From  the  dark  balcony  above  us  came  a 
voice,  weird,  higli,  and  wailing : 

"Guilty!  Guilty!  (hiilty!  lie  is  guilty,  and  shall 
die  !     Francois  Bigot  shall  die  !  " 

The  voice  was  .Mathilde's,  and  I  saw  Doltaire  shrug  a 
shoulder  and  look  with  malicious  amusement  at  the  Jn- 
tendant.  Bigot  himself  sat  pale  and  furious.  "  Discover 
the  intruder,"  ho  said  to  Gabord,  who  was  standing  near, 
"  and  have — him — jailed." 

But  the  Governor  interfered.  "  It  is  some  drunken 
creature,"  he  urged  quietly.     "  Take  no  account  of  it." 


8 


102 


TIIK   SKATS  OV  TIIF,    MKIIITV 


A\  oi-ricKU  01'  MArjixns. 

What  was  my  disnmy  to  know  tliut  I  was  to  bo  taken 
back  a^aiii  to  niy  dim^^coii,  and  not  lodged  in  tlic  coinnion 
jail,  as  I  iiad  bojxnl  and  Alixu  bad  binlcd  !  W  lieu  1  saw 
wiiiLlicr  my  footstcjis  were  dircctrd  I  said  notbin*^',  nor 
did  (bibord  speak  at  all.  We  niarelu'd  bacdv  tlirou;^'!)  a 
railin;,'  crowd,  all  silent  and  ^doomy.  J  fell  a  ebill  at  my 
beart  wlien  tbe  citadel  loonied  up  again  out  of  tbe  >»'ovem- 
ber  sbadow,  and  1  balf  paused  as  1  entered  tbe  gates. 
"Forward  I"  said  (Jabord  nu'cdianieallv,  and  I  moved  on 
into  tbe  yard,  into  tbo  prison,  tbrougb  tbe  dull  corridors, 
tbe  soldiers'  beels  clanking  and  resounding  bebind,  down 
into  tbe  bowels  of  tbe  eartb,  wbere  tbe  air  was  moist  and 
warm,  and  tbon  into  my  dungeon  bome  !  I  stepped  inside, 
and  (iabord  ordered  tbe  ropes  olV  my  })erson  somewbat 
rougbly,  watclu'd  tlie  soldiers  till  tbey  were  well  away,  ami 
tbeii  leaned  against  tbe  wall,  waiting  for  mo  to  speak.  I 
bad  no  impulse  to  smile,  but  I  knew  bow  I  could  most 
toucb  bim,  and  so  1  said  ligbtly,  "  You\e  diekey-bird 
bome  again." 

He  answered  notbing  and  turned  towards  tbe  door, 
leaving  tbe  torcb  stuck  in  tbo  wall.  ]iut  be  suddeidy 
sto])ped  sbort,  and  tbrust  out  to  me  a  tiny  piece  of  j)aper. 

"  A  band  toucbed  mine  as  I  went  tbrougb  tbe  C'bateau," 
said  be,  "and  wben  out  I  came,  look  you,  tbis  bere  !  I 
can't  see  to  road.  AVbat  does  it  say?"  be  added,  witb  a 
sbrewd  attempt  at  innocence. 

I  opened  tbe  little  paper,  bold  it  toward  tbe  torcb, 
and  road : 

^'Jiccaufic  of  the  sform  there  is  no  sleepififf.  Is  there 
not  the  watcher  aJoft?  Shall  the  sparrow  fall  unheeded? 
The  ivicl'ed  shall  he  confounded.^'' 


0  taken 
onniioii 
11  1  saw 
n^%  Mor 
'()u;,'h  a 
11  at  my 
Novt'iii- 
0  gates, 
ovi'd  on 
)iTi(l(»rs, 
(I,  ilown 
loist  and 
(1  inside, 
)nie\vliat 
way,  and 
x'lik.     I 
1(1  most 
key-bird 

le  door, 

suddenly 

f  ])aper. 

hatean," 

I 


lere : 


I,  with  a 

torch, 

Is  III  ere 
ih  ceded? 


AN   OKFK  Mil  OF   MA  KINKS. 


lOM 


It  wjw  Alixe'M  writing.  She  had  ha/ardcd  tlii,^  in  tlio 
lia:id.s  of  my  jailer  as  Iut  only  liopo,  and,  knowini;  tliat  ho 
nii;,dit  not  serve  her,  iiad  put  her  nu'SsaLTc  in  vaijue  sen- 
tciu'es  whi<'li  I  readily  interpreted.  I  read  the  words 
aloud  to  Inni,  and  lie  lau;;lied,  jind  remai'ke(l,  "  "I'is  a 
foolish  thin;,'  that — the  Scarlet  Wonum,  most  like," 

''Most  like,"  I  atiswered  «piietly;  "yet  wiiat  should 
she  he  doin;j;  there  at  tiu'  Chateau?'' 

"Tho  nuid  ^o  everywhere,"  ho  answered,  "even  to  the 
Intendanee !" 

With  that  lie  left  me,  ;roin?,  jis  ho  said,  "  to  fetch 
ernnd)s  and  wine."  Ivxhanstetl  with  tlie  (hiy's  business,  I 
threw  myself  upon  my  couch,  drew  my  cloak  over  nu', 
composed  myself,  aiul  in  a  few  minutes  was  sound  asleep. 
I  waked  to  lind  (ial)ord  in  the  dunufoon,  settini,'  out  food 
u})on  a  board  supported  by  two  stools. 

" 'Tis  custom  to  feed  vour  dickev-binl  ei-e  von  fetch 
him  to  the  pot,"  ho  said,  and  drew  the  c(.trk  from  a  bottle 
of  wine. 

lie  watched  mo  as  I  ate  t:nd  talked,  but  he  spoke 
little.  When  1  had  finished,  he  fetched  a  packet  of 
tobacco  from  his  })()cket.  I  olTered  him  money,  l)ut  he 
refused  it,  and  1  did  not  press  him,  for  lie  said  the  food 
and  wine  were  not  of  his  buvin^r.  Presently  he  left,  and 
came  back  with  pens,  ink,  paper,  and  candles,  which  he 
hiid  out  on  my  couch  without  a  word. 

After  a  little  he  came  again,  and  i)laced  a  book  on  the 
improvised  table  before  me.  It  was  an  English  Bible. 
Oj)ening  it,  I  found  inscribed  on  the  fly-leaf,  (liarJes 
Waiujlect^  Chaplain  to  the  Jh'itish  Aniuj.  (Jabord  ex- 
plained that  this  chaplain  liad  been  in  the  citadel  for  some 
weeks;  had  often  inquired  about  me;  had  been  brought 
from  the  Ohio,  and  had  known  of  me,  liaving  tended  the 
lieutenant  of  my  Virginian  infantry  in  his  last  hours. 
Gabord  thought  I  should  now  begin  to  make  my  jjcace 


u 


104 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIOnTY. 


witli  Heaven,  and  so  had  asked  for  tlie  cluiplain's  Bible, 
wliieii  was  freely  given.  I  bade  him  thank  the  eliai)lain 
for  me,  and  opening  the  book,  I  found  a  leaf  turned  down 
at  the  words, 

"  In  llip  sludlow  of  Tliij  irii}(j.'<  will  I DiaJtc  mij  refuge^ 
iintil  these  calamities  be  orerjxisty 

When  1  was  left  alone,  I  sat  down  to  write  diligently 
that  history  of  myself  which  I  had  composed  and  lixed  in 
my  memory  during  the  year  of  my  housing  in  this  dun- 
geon. Tiie  words  came  from  my  pen  freely,  Jind  hour 
after  hour  through  nuiny  days,  while  no  single  word 
reached  me  from  the  outside  world,  I  wrote  on  ;  carefully 
revising,  but  changing  little  from  that  which  I  had  taken 
so  long  to  record  in  mv  mind.  1  would  not  even  yet 
think  that  they  would  hang  me  ;  and  if  they  did,  what 
good  could  brooding  do  ?  When  the  last  word  of  the 
memoirs  (I  may  call  them  so),  addressed  to  Alixe,  had 
been  written,  I  turned  my  thoughts  to  other  friends. 

The  day  preceding  that  lixed  for  my  execution  came, 
yet  there  was  no  sign  from  friend  or  enemy  without.  At 
ten  o'clock  of  that  day  Chaplain  Wainfleet  was  admitted 
to  me  in  the  presence  of  Gabord  and  a  soldier.  I  found 
great  pleasure  in  his  company,  brief  as  his  visit  was  ;  and 
after  I  had  given  him  messages  to  bear  for  me  to  old  friends, 
if  w^e  never  met  again  and  he  were  set  free,  he  left  me,  be- 
nignly commending  me  to  Heaven.  There  was  the  question 
of  ni}/  other  letters.  I  had  but  one  desire — Voban  again, 
unless  at  my  request  the  Seigneur  Duvarney  would  come, 
and  they  would  let  him  come.  If  it  were  certain  that  I 
was  to  go  to  the  scaffold,  then  I  should  not  hesitate  to  tell 
him  my  relations  with  his  daughter,  that  he  might  com- 
fort her  when,  being  gone  from  the  world  myself,  my 
love  could  do  her  no  harm.  1  could  not  think  that  he 
would  hold  against  me  the  duel  with  his  son,  and  I  felt 
sure  he  would  come  to  me  if  he  could. 


's  Bible, 
"haphiin 
id  down 

/  refuge, 

iliijcntly 
lixed  in 
lis  dun- 
id  hour 
1(3  word 
3arefully 
id  taken 
;ven  yet 
id,  what 
[  of  the 
ixe,  had 
ds. 


n  came, 

)ut.     At 

dniitted 

I  found 

as ;  and 

friends, 

me,  be- 

question 

1  airain, 

d  come, 

1  that  I 

e  to  tell 

it  com- 

self,  my 

that  he 

Id  I  felt 


AN  OFFICEIl  OF  MARINES. 


105 


'\ 


I 


But  why  should  I  not  try  for  both  Voban  and  the 
Seigneur?     So  I  spoke  to  Gabord. 

"Voban!  Voban  I  "said  he.  "Does  dickey-bird  play 
at  peacock  still  ?  Well,  thou  shalt  see  Voban.  Thou 
shalt  go  trimmed  to  heaven — alio  !  " 

Presently  I  asked  him  if  he  would  bear  ;i  message  to 
the  Governor,  asking  })ermission  for  the  Seigneur  Duvar- 
ney  to  visit  me,  if  he  were  so  inclined.  At  his  request  I 
wrote  my  petition  out,  and  he  carried  it  away  with  him, 
saying  that  I  should  have  Voban  that  evening. 

I  waited  hour  after  hour,  but  no  one  came.  As  near 
as  1  could  judge  it  was  now  evening.  It  seemed  strange 
to  think  that,  twenty  feet  above  me,  the  world  was  all 
white  with  snow  ;  the  sound  of  sleigh-bells  and  church- 
bells,  and  the  cries  of  snowshoers  ringing  on  the  clear, 
sharp  air.  I  pictured  the  streets  of  Quebec  alive  willi 
people :  the  young  Seigneur  set  off  with  furs  and  silken 
sash  and  sword  or  pistols  ;  the  long-haired,  black-eyed 
woodsman  in  his  embroitlered  moccasins  and  leggings 
with  flying  thrums ;  the  peasant  farmer  slapping  his 
hands  cheerfully  in  the  lighted  market-place  ;  the  petty 
noble,  with  his  demoiselle,  hovering  in  the  precincts  of 
the  Chateau  St.  Louis  and  the  intendance.  Up  there 
were  light,  freedom,  and  the  ins|)iriting  frost ;  down  here 
in  my  dungeon,  the  blades  of  corn,  which,  dying,  yet 
never  died,  told  the  story  of  a  choking  air,  wherein  the 
body  and  soul  of  a  man  droop  and  take  long  to  die.  This 
wjis  the  night  before  Christmas  Eve,  when  in  England  and 
V^irginia  they  would  be  preparing  for  feasting  and  thanks- 
giving. 

The  memories  of  ]iast  years  crowded  on  me.  I 
thought  of  feastings  and  s])endthrift  rejoicings  in  (Jlas- 
gow  and  Virginia.  All  at  once  the  carnal  man  in  mo 
rose  up  and  damned  these  lying  foes  of  mine.  liesigna- 
tion  went  whistling  down  the  wind,     llaug  me !     Hang 


ll 


lOG 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


mo  !  Xo,  by  the  God  tliat  gave  mo  breath  !  I  sat  back 
and  lau.<i:lied — laughed  at  my  own  insipid  virtue,  by 
which,  to  keep  faitii  witli  tlie  fanatical  follower  of  Prinije 
Charlie,  I  had  refused  my  lil)erty  ;  cut  myself  olf  from 
the  useful  services  of  my  King ;  wasted  good  years  of  my 
life,  trusting  to  pressure  and  help  to  come  from  England, 
which  never  came  ;  twisted  the  rope  for  my  own  neck  to 
keep  honour  with  the  dishonourable  Doltaire,  who  him- 
self had  set  the  noose  swinging ;  and,  inexi)ressible  mis- 
ery !  involved  in  my  shame  and  peril  a  young,  blithe 
spirit,  breathing  a  miasma  upon  the  health  of  a  tender 
life.  Every  rebellious  atom  in  my  blood  sprang  to  indig- 
nant action.  I  swore  that  if  they  fetched  me  to  the  gal- 
lows to  celebrate  tlieir  Xoel,  other  lives  than  mine  should 
go  to  keep  me  company  on  the  dark  trail.  To  die  like  a 
rat  in  a  trap,  oiled  for  the  burning,  and  lighted  by  the 
torch  of  hatred  !  No,  I  would  die  fighting,  if  I  must  die. 
I  drew  from  its  hiding-place  the  knife  I  had  secreted 
the  day  I  was  brought  into  that  dungeon — a  little  weapon, 
but  it  would  serve  for  the  first  blow.  At  whom  ?  (Jabord  ? 
It  all  flashed  through  my  mind  how  I  might  do  it  when 
he  came  in  again  :  bury  this  blade  in  his  neck  or  heart — 
it  was  long  enough  for  the  work;  then,  when  he  was 
dead,  change  my  clotlies  for  his,  take  his  weapons,  and 
run  my  chances  to  get  free  of  the  citadel.  Free?  Where 
should  1  go  in  the  dead  of  winter  ?  Who  would  hide  me, 
shelter  me?  I  could  not  make  my  wav  to  an  Endish 
settlement.  Ill  clad,  exposed  to  the  merciless  climate, 
and  the  end  death.  But  that  was  freedom — freedom  !  I 
could  feel  my  body  dilating  with  the  thought,  as  I  paced 
my  dungeon  like  an  ill-tempered  beast.  But  kill  Gabord, 
who  had  put  himself  in  danger  to  serve  me,  who  himself 
had  kept  the  chains  from  off  my  ankles  and  body,  whose 
own  life  depended  upon  my  security — "  Come,  come, 
Robert  Moray,"  said  I,  "  what  relish  have  you  for  that  ? 


AN  OFFICER  OF   :MAIIINES. 


107 


That's  an  ill  game  for  a  gentloiiL'in.  Alixe  Duvarnoy 
would  ratlicr  seo  \ou  dead  than  get  your  freedom  over  the 
body  of  this  man." 

Tliat  was  an  liour  of  storm.  I  am  glad  tliat  I  con- 
quered the  baser  part  of  me ;  for,  ahnost  before  I  had 
grown  calm  again,  the  bolts  of  the  dungeon  (h)()rs  shot 
back,  and  presently  GaU)rd  stepped  inside,  followed  i»y  a 
mulTled  figure. 

"Voban  the  barber,"  said  TJabord  in  a  strange  voice, 
and  stepping  again  outside,  he  closed  the  door,  but  did 
not  shoot  the  bolts. 

I  stood  as  one  in  a  dream.  Voban  the  barber?  In 
spite  of  cap  and  great  fur  coat,  I  saw  the  f)utline  of  a  fig- 
ure that  no  barber  ever  had  in  this  world.  I  saw  two 
eyes  shining  like  lights  set  in  a  rosy  sky.  A  moment  of 
doubt,  of  impossible  speculation,  of  delicious  suspense, 
and  then  the  coat  of  Voban  the  barber  opened,  dropped 
away  from  the  lithe,  graceful  figure  of  a  young  otlicer  of 
marines,  the  cap  flew  off,  and  in  an  instant  the  dear  liead^ 
the  blushing,  shining  face  of  Alixe  was  on  my  breast. 

In  that  moment,  stolen  from  the  calendar  of  hate,  I 
ran  into  the  haven  where  true  hearts  cast  anchor  and  bless 
God  that  they  have  seen  upon  the  heights  to  guide  them 
the  liglits  of  liome.  The  moment  flashed  by  and  was 
gone,  but  tlie  light  it  made  went  not  witli  it. 

When  I  drew  her  blushing  face  up,  and  stood  lier  ofT 
from  me  that  I  might  look  at  her  again,  the  colour  flew 
back  and  forth  on  her  cheek,  as  von  mav  see  the  fire  flut- 
ter  in  an  uncut  ruby  when  you  turn  it  i!i  the  sun.  Mod- 
estly drawing  th.e  cloak  she  wore  more  closely  about  her, 
she  hastened  to  tell  me  how  it  was  she  came  in  sufh  a 
guise;  but  I  made  her  pause  for  a  moment  while  I  gave 
lier  a  seat  and  sat  down  beside  her.  Then  by  the  light  (»t' 
the  flickering  torch  and  fl.a'ing  candles  I  watched  her  feel- 
ings play  upon  her  face  as  the  warm  light  of  autumn 


108 


TIIK  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY 


sliifts  upon  the  glories  of  ripe  fruits.  Her  liiijipiuoss  was 
tempered  by  the  sjulness  of  our  position,  jiml  my  lu>iirt 
smote  me  tluit  I  h:id  made  lu'r  sulTt-r,  bad  brougbt  care  to 
her  young  Hi'e.  1  could  see  that  in  the  year  she  had  grown 
older,  yet  her  beauty  seemed  eidianced  by  that  and  by  the 
trouble  she  had  endured.  I  shall  let  her  tell  her  story 
here  unbroken  by  my  questions  and  those  interruptions 
which  (iabord  made,  bidding  ber  to  make  haste.  She 
spoke  without  faltering,  save  here  and  there ;  but  even 
then  I  could  see  her  brave  spirit  quelling  the  riot  of  her 
emotions,  shutting  down  the  sluice-gate  of  her  tears. 

"  I  knew,"  she  said,  her  hand  clasped  in  mine,  "that 
Gabord  was  the  only  person  likely  to  be  admitted  to  you, 
and  so  for  days,  living  in  fear  lest  the  worst  should  hap- 
j)en,  I  have  prepared  for  this  chance.  I  have  grown  so 
in  height  that  an  old  uniform  of  mv  brother's  would  fit 
me,  and  1  had  it  ready — small  sword  and  all,"  she  added, 
with  a  sad  sort  of  humour,  touching  the  weapon  at  her 
side.  "  You  must  know  that  we  have  for  the  winter  a 
house  here  upon  the  ramparts  near  the  Chateau.  It  was 
my  mother's  doings,  that  my  sister  (Jeorgette  and  I  might 
have  no  great  journeyings  in  the  cold  to  the  festivities 
liereabouts.  8o  I,  being  a  favourite  with  the  Governor, 
ran  in  ami  out  of  the  Chateau  at  my  will ;  of  which  my 
mother  was  proud,  and  she  allow^ed  me  much  liberty,  for 
to  be  a  favourite  of  the  Governor  is  an  hom)ur.  I  knew 
liow  things  were  going,  and  what  the  chances  wore  of  the 
sentence  being  carried  out  0!i  you.  Sometimes  1  thought 
my  heart  would  burst  with  the  anxiety  of  it  all,  but 
I  would  show  that  to  the  world.  If  you  could  but  have 
seen  me  smile  at  the  Governor  and  Monsieur  Doltaire — 
nay,  do  not  press  my  hand  so,  Robert ;  you  know  well 
you  have  no  need  to  fear  monsieur — while  I  learned  se- 
crets of  state,  among  them  news  of  you.  Three  nights 
ago  ^lonsiuur  Doltuire  was  talking  with  me  at  a  ball — ah, 


Si 


il 


AN   OFFICER  OF   MAUINKS. 


lOi) 


those  feastiiigs  wliilc  you  wore  lying  in  n  dunijoon,  and  I 
sliiUtinsf  up  mv  love  and  Vf>ur  danircr  close  in  niv  heart, 
even  from  those  who  loved  me  bcvst !  Well,  suddenly  he 
said,  '  I  think  I  M'ill  not  have  our  English  eaptaiu  shii'led 
to  a  better  world.' 

"  My  heart  stood  still;  I  felt  an  ache  across  my  hreast 
so  that  I  could  hardlv  breathe.  '  Whv  will  you  not?'  said 
I;  'was  not  the  sentence  just?'  llv  paused  a  minute, 
and  then  re2)lied,  'AH  sentences  are  just  when  an  enemy 
is  dangerous.'  Then  said  I  as  in  suri)rise,  '  Why,  was  he 
no  spy,  after  all?'  He  sat  back,  and  laughed  a  little.  'A 
spy  according  to  the  letter  of  the  law,  but  you  have  heard 
of  secret  history — eh  ? '  I  tried  to  seem  puzzled,  for  I 
had  a  thought  there  was  something  private  between  you 
and  him  which  has  to  do  with  your  fate.  So  I  said,  as  if 
bewildered,  '  You  mean  there  is  evidence  whicli  was  not 
shown  at  the  trial  ? '  lie  answered  slowly, '  Evidence  that 
would  bear  upon  the  morals,  not  the  law,  of  the  case.' 
Then  said  I, '  lias  it  to  do  with  yon,  monsieur?'  '  It  has 
to  do  with  France,'  he  replied.  '  And  so  you  will  not  have 
his  death?'!  asked.  'Bigot  wishes  it,'  he  replied, 'for 
no  other  reason  than  that  Madame  Cournal  has  s])oken 
nice  words  for  the  good-looking  captain,  and  because  that 
nnsuccessful  duel  gave  Vaudreuil  an  advantage  over  him- 
self. Vaudreuil  wishes  it  because  he  thinks  it  will  sound 
well  in  France,  and  also  because  he  really  believes  the 
man  a  spy.  The  Council  do  not  care  much  ;  they  follow 
the  Governor  and  Bigot,  and  both  ix-ing  agreed,  their 
verdict  is  unanimous.'  lie  ])aused,  then  addcul,  'And  the 
Seigneur  Duvarney — and  his  daughter — wish  it  because 
of  a  notable  injury  to  one  of  their  luime.'  At  that  I  cau- 
tiously replied,  '  Xo,  my  father  does  not  wish  it,  for  my 
brother  gave  the  offence,  and  Captain  Moray  saved  his 
life,  as  you  know.  I  do  not  wish  it,  Monsieur  Doltnins 
because  hanging  is  a  shameful  death,  and  he  is  a  gentle- 


110 


THE  SKATS  OP  THE   MIGIITV 


man,  not  .1  rufTuin.  Let  liim  bo  shot  like  ji  ^outloman. 
How  will  it  sound  at  the  Court  of  France  that,  on  insutti- 
cient  evidence,  as  you  Jidniit,  an  En^^iish  <ientlcnuin  wa3 
lumped  for  a  sj^y  ?  Would  not  the  King  say  (for  lie  is  a 
jjontlenian),  Wliy  was  not  all  this  shown  nie  before  the 
man's  death?  Is  it  not  a  matter  upon  which  a  country 
would  feel  as  gentlemen  feel  'i ' 

"  1  knew  it  the  right  thing  to  say  at  the  moment,  and 
it  seemed  the  only  way  to  aid  you,  though  I  intended,  if 
the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  to  go  myself  to  the  Governor 
at  the  last  and  jilead  for  your  life,  at  least  for  a  reprieve. 
But  it  had  suddenly  Hashed  upon  me  that  a  reference  to 
France  was  the  thing,  since  the  Articles  of  War  which 
you  are  accused  of  dishonouring  were  signed  by  oflicers 
from  France  and  England. 

"•Presently  he  turned  to  me  with  a  look  of  curiosity, 
aiul  {mother  sort  of  look  also  that  made  me  tremble,  and 
said,  '\ow,  there  you  have  put  your  finger  on  the  point — 
my  point,  the  choice  weapon  I  had  reserved  to  prick  the 
little  bubble  of  Bigot's  hate  and  the  Governor's  conceit,  if 
I  so  chose,  even  at  the  last.  And  here  is  a  girl,  a  young 
girl  just  freed  from  pinafores,  vidio  teaches  them  the  law 
of  nations !  If  it  pleased  me  I  should  not  speak,  for  Vau- 
dreuil's  and  Bigot's  affairs  are  none  of  mine;  but,  in  truth, 
why  should  you  kill  your  enemy  ?  It  is  the  sport  to  keep 
him  living;  you  can  get  no  change  for  your  money  from 
a  dead  man.  lie  has  had  one  cheerful  year;  why  not  an- 
other, and  another,  and  another?  And  so  watch  him 
fretting  to  the  slow-coming  end,  while  now  and  again  yon 
give  him  a  taste  of  hope,  to  drop  him  back  again  into  the 
pit  which  has  no  sides  for  climbing.'  He  paused  a  min- 
ute, and  then  added, '  A  year  ago  I  thought  he  had  touched 
you,  this  Britisher,  with  his  raw  humour  and  manners; 
but,  my  faith,  how  swiftly  does  a  woman's  fancy  veer ! ' 
At  that  I  said  calmly  to  him,  '  You  must  remember  that 


I 


AX  OFFICER  OF  .MARINES. 


Ill 


law 
A'au- 
rnth, 
keep 
from 
ot  an- 
il im 
11  yoii 
o  the 
luin- 
iiched 
mors ; 


^'cer 


- 1 ' 


that 


then  he  was  not  thouf;ht  so  base.'     '  Yos,  yos,'  ho  roiilicd  ; 
'and  a  woman  loves  to  pity  tlie  captive,  whatever  his  fault, 
if  he  be  presentabk^  and  of  some  notice  or  talent.     And 
Moray  has  gifts,'  he  went  on.     I  appeared  all  at  once  to 
bo  olTeiided.    '  Veeriiiir,  indeed  !  a  woman's  fanev!    I  tliink 
you  might  judge  women  better.     You  come  from  liigh 
places,  Monsieur  Doltaire,  and  they  say  this  and  that  of 
your  grcjit  talents  and  of  your  power  at  Versailles,  but 
what  proof  have  we  had  of  it?     You  set  a  girl  down  with 
a  line  patronage,  and  you  hint  at  weapons  to  cut  olT  my 
cousin  the  Governor  and  the  Intendant  from  their  pur- 
jioses  ;  but  how  do  we  know  you  can  use  them,  that  you 
have  power  with  either  the  unnoticeable  woman  or  the 
great  men?'     I  knew  very  well  it  was  a  bold  move.     He 
suddenly  turned  to  me,  in  his  cruel  eyes  a  glittering  kind 
of  light,  and  said,  '  I  suggest  no  more  tlian  I  can  do  with 
those  "  great  men  " ;  and  as  for  the  woman,  the  slave  can 
not  be  patron — I  am  the  slave.     I  thought  not  of  power 
before;  but  now  that  I  do,  I  will  live  up  to  my  thinking. 
I  seem  idle,  I  am  not;  purposeless,  I  am  not;  a  gamester, 
1  am  none.     I  am  a  sportsman,  and  I  will  not  leave  the 
field  till  all  the  hunt  be  over.     I  seem  a  triiler,  vet  I  h.ivc 
persistency.    I  am  no  romanticist,  I  have  no  great  admira- 
tion for  mvself,  and  vet  when  I  set  out  to  hunt  a  woman 
honestly,  be  sure  I  shall  never  back  to  kennel  till  she  is 
mine  or  I  am  done  for  utterlv.     Not  bv  worth  nor  bv  de- 
serving,  but  by  unending  patience  and  diligence — that  shall 
be  my  motto.     I  shall  devote  to  the  chase  every  art  that  I 
have  learned  or  known  by  nature.     So  there  you  have  me, 
mademoiselle.     Since  you  have  brought  me  to  the  pointy 
I  will  unfurl  mv  flag.  ...  I  am — vour — hunter,'  he  went 
on,  speaking  with  slow,  painful  emphasis,  '  and  I  shall 
make  you  mine.     You  fight  against  me,  but  it  is  no  use.' 
I  got  to  my  feet,  and  said  with  coolness,  though  I  was 
sick  at  heart  and  trembling,  '  You  are  frank.     You  have 


. 

! 


112 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MKJIITY. 


iiiiule  two  rivsolves.  I  shall  f]fivc  wci^^^ht  to  the  one  as  you 
fulfil  tho  other';  ami,  smiling  at  him,  1  moved  away 
towards  my  mother. 

"  Masterful  as  he  is  I  felt  that  this  would  touch  his 
vanity.  Tlierc  hiy  my  ^reat  chance  with  him.  If  he  had 
guessed  the  truth  of  what's  between  us,  be  sure,  Kobert, 
your  life  were  not  worth  one  hour  beyond  to-morrow's 
sunrise.  You  must  know  how  I  loathe  deeeitfulness,  but 
when  one  weak  girl  is  matched  against  powerful  and  evil 
men  what  can  she  do  ?  My  conscience  does  not  chide 
me,  for  1  know  my  cause  is  just.  Kobert,  look  me  in  the 
eyes.  .  .  .  There,  like  that.  .  .  .  Now  tell  me  :  You  are 
innocent  of  the  dishonourable  thing,  are  you  not?  I  be- 
lieve with  all  my  soul,  but  that  I  nuiy  say  from  your  own 
lips  that  you  are  no  spy,  tell  me  so." 

When  I  had  said  as  she  had  wished,  jissuring  her  she 
should  know  all,  carrying  proofs  away  with  her,  and  that 
hidden  evidence  of  which  Doltaire  had  spoken,  she  went 
on  : 

*' '  You  put  me  to  the  test,'  said  monsieur.  '  Doing  one, 
it  will  be  i)roof  that  I  shall  do  the  other.'  lie  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  me  with  such  a  look  that  my  whole  nature 
shrank  from  him,  as  if  the  next  instant  his  hateful  hands 
were  to  be  placed  on  me.  Oh,  Kobert,  I  know  how  peiil- 
ous  was  the  part  I  played,  but  I  dared  it  for  your  sake. 
For  a  whole  year  1  have  dissembled  to  every  one  save  to 
that  poor  mad  soul  Mathilde,  who  reads  my  heart  in  her 
wild  way,  to  Yoban,  and  to  the  rough  soldier  outside  your 
dungeon.  Hut  they  will  not  betray  me.  (Jod  has  given 
us  these  rough  but  honest  friends. 

"  Well,  monsieur  left  me  that  night,  aiul  I  have  not 
seen  him  since,  nor  can  I  tell  where  he  is,  for  no  one 
knows,  and  1  dare  not  ask  too  much.  I  did  believe  he 
would  achieve  his  boast  as  to  saving  your  life,  and  so,  all 
yesterday  and  to-day,  I  have  waited  with  most  anxious 


I 


given 


f 


AN   OFFICFR  ()P   MAUIXKS. 


ii;3 


lioart ;  but  not  oiu'  word  !  Yet  tliorc  was  that  in  all  ho 
said  which  nuidc  luo  sure  lie  meant  to  save  you,  ami  I  be- 
lieve he  will.  Vet  think  :  if  anythin<,^  happened  to  him! 
You  know  what  wild  doings  go  on  at  lligot's  chateau  out 
at  Charlesbourg  ;  or,  again,  in  the  storm  of  yesterday  he 
may  have  been  lost.  You  see,  there  are  the  hundred 
chanees  ;  so  I  determined  not  to  trust  whollv  to  him. 
There  was  one  other  way — to  seek  the  (Jovernor  myself, 
open  my  heart  to  him,  and  beg  for  a  rejjrieve.  To-night 
at  nine  o'eloek — it  is  now  six,  liobert — we  go  to  the  Cha- 
teau St.  Louis,  my  mother  and  my  father  and  J,  to  sup 
with  the  (Jovernor.  Oh,  think  what  I  must  endure,  to 
face  them  with  this  awful  shadow  on  me  !  If  no  word 
come  of  the  reprieve  before  tliat  hour,  1  shall  make  my 
own  appeal  to  the  (Jovernor.  It  may  ruin  me,  but  it  may 
save  you  ;  and  that  done,  what  should  I  care  for  the  rest? 
Your  life  is  more  to  me  than  all  the  world  beside."  Hero 
she  put  both  hands  upon  my  shoulders  and  looked  me  in 
the  eyes. 

I  did  not  answer  yet,  bnt  took  her  hands  in  mine,  and 
she  continned  :  "  An  hour  past  T  told  my  mother  I  should 
go  to  see  my  dear  friend  Lucie  Lotbiniere.  Then  I  stole 
up  to  my  room,  put  on  my  brother's  uniform,  and  came 
down  to  meet  Voban  near  the  citadel,  as  we  had  arranged. 
1  knew  he  was  to  have  an  order  from  the  (Jovernor  to 
visit  you.  He  was  waiting,  and  to  my  great  joy  he  put 
the  order  in  my  liands.  I  took  his  coat  and  wig  and  cap, 
a  poor  disguise,  and  came  straight  to  the  eita(h'l,  handing 
the  order  to  the  soldiers  at  the  gate.  They  gave  it  back 
^vithout  a  word,  and  passed  me  on.  I  thought  this  strange, 
and  looked  at  tiie  paper  by  the  light  of  the  torches.  Whiit 
was  my  surprise  to  see  that  Voban's  name  had  been  left 
out !  It  bnt  gave  permission  to  the  bearer.  That  would 
serve  with  the  common  soldier,  but  I  knew  well  it  would 
not  with  Gabord  or  with  the  commandant  of  the  citadel. 


114 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MKiHTV. 


All  lit  once  I  811W  tlio  f:fr('iit  risk  I  wjis  nniiiing,  tlic  ilan- 
g(M*  to  us  both.  Still  1  would  not  turn  i)ack.  J'.ut  how 
good  fortune  serves  us  when  we  leiist  look  fur  it !  At  the 
cornniiindiint's  verv  door  wjis  (laboid.  J  did  not  think  to 
deceive  him.  It  wjis  my  jjurpose  fi'om  the  first  to  throw 
myself  upon  his  mercy.  So  tlusre,  tiuit  njoment,  I  thrust 
the  order  into  his  luind.  He  read  it,  looked  ji  monu'nt 
lialf  liercely  aiul  half  kindly,  at  me  then  turned  and  took 
the  order  to  the  commandant.  Presently  he  came  out, 
and  said  to  me,  'Come,  m'sieu',  and  see  you  clip  the  gen- 
tleman dainty  tine  for  his  sunrise  travel.  Jle'll  get  no 
care  'twixt  j)osting-house  and  end  of  journey,  nTsicu'.' 
This  he  said  before  two  soldiers,  s})eaking  with  harshness 
and  a  brutal  humour.  But  inside  the  citadel  lie  changed 
at  once,  and,  taking  from  my  head  this  cap  and  wig,  he 
said  quite  gently,  yet  I  could  see  he  was  angry,  too,  '  This 
is  a  mad  doing,  young  lady.'  lie  said  no  more,  but  led 
me  straight  tc  you.  If  1  had  told  him  I  was  coming,  I 
know  he  would  have  stayed  me.  But  at  the  dangerous 
moment  he  had  not  heart  to  drive  me  back.  .  .  .  And 
that  is  all  my  story,  Kobert." 

As  I  have  said,  this  tale  was  broken  often  bv  little 
questionings  and  exclamations,  and  was  not  told  in  one 
lonu  narrative  as  I  have  written  it  here.  When  she  had 
done  I  sat  silent  and  overcome  for  a  moment.  There  was 
one  thing  now  troubling  me  sorely,  even  in  the  painful  joy 
of  having  her  here  close  by  me.  She  had  risked  all  to 
save  my  liff^ — reputation,  friends,  even  myself,  the  one 
solace  in  her  possible  misery.  "Was  it  not  my  duty  to  agree 
to  Doltaire's  terms,  for  her  sake,  if  there  was  yet  a  chance 
to  do  so  ?  I  had  made  a  solemn  promise  to  Sir  John 
Godric  tluit  those  letters,  if  they  ever  left  my  hands,  should 
go  to  the  great  lady  who  had  written  them  ;  and  to  save 
my  own  life  I  would  not  have  broken  faith  with  my  bene- 
factor.    But  had  1  the  right  to  add  to  the  misery  of  this 


t 


I 


AN   OFFICKU   OF   MAIIINKS. 


115 


This 


agree 
umce 
Jolni 
hoiild 
save 
bene- 
'  this 


Rweet,  bnivo  spirit  ?  Suppose  it  was  but  for  a  year  or  t  wo  : 
Iiud  I  tile  right  to  give  l»er  sorrow  Tor  that  tiiiu",  if  1  coiihl 
])revent  it,  even  at  tjje  eost  of  lioiiour  with  tlie  dead  V  Was 
it  not  my  duty  to  act,  and  at  once?     'I'iine  was  sliort. 

Wiiiio  in  a  swift  moment  1  was  del)ating,  (Jal)ord 
()[)('ned  tlie  door,  and  said,  "  Come,  end  it,  end  it.  (Ja- 
bord  lias  a  liead  to  sav(^ !  "  I  l)egged  him  for  one  minute 
more,  and  then  giving  Alixe  tiie  })aeket  whidi  iichl  my 
story,  J  told  her  hastily  the  matter  between  Dohaire  and 
myself,  and  said  that  now,  rather  than  give  her  sorrow,  [ 
was  prepared  to  break  my  word  with  Sir  .lohn  Ciodrie. 
She  heard  me  througli  witii  flashing  eyes,  and  I  eould  see 
her  •  bosom  heave.  When  1  had  done,  she  looked  mo 
straight  in  the  eyes. 

"Is  all  that  here?"  she  said,  holding  up  the  })aeket. 

"  All,"  I  answered. 

"And  you  would  not  break  your  word  to  save  your 
own  life?" 

I  shook  my  head  in  lu-gation. 

"Now  I  know  that  you  are  truly  honourable,"  slu;  an- 
swered, "and  you  shall  not  break  your  jjromisc  for  me. 
No,  no,  you  shall  not ;  you  shall  not  stir.  Tell  me  that 
you  will  not  send  word  to  Monsieur  Doltaire — tell  me  I  " 

When,  after  some  struggle,  I  had  consented,  she  said, 
"  But  I  may  act.  I  am  not  bound  to  secrecy.  I  havo 
given  no  word  or  bond.  I  will  go  to  the  (Jovernor  with 
the  tale  of  my  love,  and  I  do  not  fear  the  end.  'I'liev  will 
put  me  in  a  convent,  and  I  shall  see  you  no  more,  but  I 
shall  have  saved  you." 

In  vain  I  begged  her  not  to  do  so;  her  purpose  was 
strong,  and  I  could  only  get  her  promise  that  she  would 
not  act  till  midnight.  This  was  liardly  achieved  when 
Gabord  entered  quickly,  saying, "  The  Seigneur  Duvarney ! 
On  with  your  coat,  wig,  and  ciip  !    Quick,  mademoiselle  I  " 

Swiftly  the  disguise  was  put  on,  and  I  clasped  her  to 


iir. 


TIIK  SKATS  OF  TIIK    MKHITV 


luy  biVHst  with  :i  joyful  Jii^^oiiy,  wlulo  (Jalionl  luistily  put 
out  tlio  (!Jiii(ll«'s  iiiid  torcli,  5111(1  (hvw  Ali\u  In-liiiid  tho 
(lunu^coii  (lixtr.  'riicii  stainliii^'  iiiiiisi'lf  in  i\\v  doorway,  ho 
loudly  coruiiu-ndcd  nio  to  sU'cp  sound  iiiitl  he  ready  for 
lonj,' travel  in  the  nionnng.  Takin;;  the  hint  1  threw  niy- 
Hclf  upon  my  couch  and  compost'd  myself.  An  instant 
afterwards  tho  Sei^jneur  appeared  with  a  soldier.  («al)or(l 
met  him  cheerfullv,  looki'd  at  tho  order  from  the  (iovcr- 
nor,  and  motioni'd  tho  Seigneur  in  and  the  soldier  away. 
As  Duvarney  step[ied  inside,  Oahord  followed,  holdini; 
up  a  torch.  I  rose  to  moot  my  visitor,  anil  as  I  took  hid 
liand  I  saw  (iahord  catch  Alixo  hy  tho  sleeve  and  hurry 
her  out  with  a  whispered  word,  swinj^ing  tho  door  behind 
lior  us  slio  i)assod.  'i'hen  ho  stu(^k  tho  tonOi  in  the  wall, 
w'(!nt  out,  shut  and  bolted  the  dungeon  door,  and  loft  us 
two  alono. 

I  was  glad  that  Alixo's  safety  liad  boon  assured,  and 
my  greeting  of  her  father  was  cordial.  l>ut  ho  was  more 
reserved  than  1  had  over  known  liim.  'J'he  duel  with  lii3 
son,  which  had  sent  tho  youth  to  Franc(^  ami  left  him 
with  a  wound  which  wou.ld  trouble  him  for  .  ..nv  a  dav, 
weighed  heavily  against  mo.  Again,  I  think  he  guessed 
my  lovo  for  Alixo,  aiul  resented  it  with  all  his  might. 
AVhat  Frenchman  would  care  to  have  his  daughter  lose 
her  heart  to  one  accused  of  a  wretched  crime,  condemned 
to  death,  an  enemy  of  his  country  aiul  a  Protestant?  I 
was  sure  that,  should  ho  guess  at  the  exact  relations  be- 
tween us,  Alixo  would  be  sent  behind  the  tall  doors  of  a 
convent,  \\here  I  should  knock  in  vain. 

"  You  must  not  think,  ^loray,"  said  he,  "that  I  have 
been  iiulifferont  to  your  fate,  but  you  can  not  guess  how 
strong  is  tho  feeling  against  you,  how  obdurate  is  the 
Governor,  who,  if  he  should  a))pear  lax  in  dealing  with 
you,  would  give  a  weapon  into  Bigot's  hands  which  might 
ruin  him  in  France  one  day.     1  have  but  this  moment 


liavc 

liow 

is  tho 

Avitli 

)ment 


AN   OFFICKK  OF   MAIilXKS. 


11 


conic  from  tlie  (Jovoriior,  and  tluTo  si'cma  no  way  to  move 
him;' 

1  siiw  that  ho  was  (rouhlctj  nriv-itly,  atul  I  I'rlt  liis  lu-lp- 
lossness.  ll(»  wcMit  on:  "Tlit'iv  is  hut  one  niaJi  wiio  ('(Mild 
hcnd  the  (lovcriior,  hut.  lie,  alasl  is  no  friciul  of  yours. 
And  wliat  way  tiiciv  is  to  move  liim  1  know  not;  ha  has 
110  wisii,  I  fancy,  hut  that  you  shall  ^^o  to  your  fate." 

"You  nu'an  Monsieur  Doltairc':' "  sai«l  I  <|uictly. 

"Doltaiiv,"  hcMinswcrcd.  '' \  have  tried  to  find  him, 
for  lie  is  the  secret  agent  of   La   Pompadour,  and  if  1  had 

one  ])lausihle  reason  to  weigh  with  liim Hut  I  havt^ 

none,  unless  you  can  give  it.  There  are  vague  hints  of 
things  hetween  you  and  him,  and  1  liave  come  to  ask  if 
you  can  put  any  fact,  any  argument,  in  my  haiuls  that 
would  aid  me  with  him.     I  would  go  far  to  servo  you." 

"Think  not,  1  pray  you,"  returned  1,  ''that  there  is 
any  deht  unsatistied  hetween  us." 

IIo  waved  hi.s  hand  in  a  nu'lancholv  wav.  "  Iiuh'cd,  [ 
wish  to  serve  you  for  the  sake  of  past  friendship  hetween 
us,  not  only  for  that  dcht's  sake." 

"  In  spite  of  my  quarrel  with  your  son?"  asked  F. 

"  In  spite  of  that,  indeed,"  he  said  slowly,  "  though  a 
great  wedge  was  driven  hetween  us  there." 

"  I  am  truly  sorry  for  it,"  said  I,  with  somc^  pride. 
"Thehlamo  was  in  no  sense  mine.  I  was  struck  across 
the  face;  I  humhled  myself,  renu^mhering  you,  but  he 
would  have  me  out  yes  or  no." 

"T^'pon  a  wager!"  he  urged,  somewhat  coldly. 

"  With  the  Intendant,  monsieur,"  1  replied,  '•  not  with 
vour  so, I 


5? 


I  can  not  understand   the  matter,"  was  his  gloomy 


answer, 


"  I  heg  you  not  to  try,"  I  rejoined  ;  "  it  is  too  late  for 
explanations,  and  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you  of  myself  and 
Monsieur  Doltaire.     Only,  whatever  comes,  remember  I 


9 


SCARBOROUGH   TOWNSHtP 
PUBLIC   LIBRARY 


118 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY 


\r  n 


have  begged  nothing  of  you,  have  desired  notliing  but 
justice — tliiit  only.  I  shall  make  no  further  move;  tlie 
axe  shall  fall  if  it  must.  I  have  nothing  now  to  do  but 
set  my  house  in  order,  and  live  the  hours  between  this 
ajid  sunrise  with  what  quiet  I  may.  I  am  ready  for  either 
freedom  or  death.  Life  is  not  so  incomparable  a  thing 
that  I  can  not  give  it  up  without  pother." 

lie  looked  at  me  a  mouient  steadily.  "  You  and  I  are 
standing  far  off  from  each  other,"  he  remarked.  "I  will 
say  one  last  thing  to  you,  though  you  seem  to  wish  me 
gone  and  your  o"m  grave  closing  in.  I  was  asked  by  the 
Governor  to  tell  you  that  if  you  would  put  him  in  the 
way  of  knowing  the  affairs  of  your  provinces  from  the 
letters  you  have  received^  together  with  estinuite  of  forces 
and  plans  of  your  forts,  as  you  have  known  them,  he  will 
spare  you.  I  only  tell  you  this  because  you  close  all  other 
ways  to  me." 

"I  carry,"  said  I,  with  a  sharp  burst  of  anger,  "the 
scars  of  wounds  an  insolent  youth  gave  me.  I  wish  now 
tliat  I  had  killed  the  son  of  the  man  who  dares  bring  me 
such  a  message." 

For  a  moment  I  had  forgotten  Alixe,  everything,  in 
the  wildness  of  my  anger.  I  choked  with  rage ;  I  could 
have  struck  him. 

"  I  mean  nothing  against  you,"  he  urged,  with  great 
ruefulness.  "  I  suggest  nothing.  I  bring  the  Governor's 
message,  that  is  all.  And  let  me  say,"  he  added,  ''  that  I 
have  not  thought  you  a  spy,  nor  ever  shall  think  so." 

I  was  trembling  with  anger  still,  and  I  was  glad  that 
at  the  moment  Gabord  opened  the  door  and  stood 
waiting. 

"  You  will  not  part  with  me  in  peace,  then  ?  "  asked 
the  Seigneur  slowly. 

"  I  will  remember  the  gentleman  who  gave  a  captive 
hospitality,"  I  answered.     "  I  am  too  near  death  to  let  a 


I 


I 


THE  COMING   OF  DOLTAIRE. 


119 


ig  but 
e ;  tlie 
do  but 
jn  this 
•  eitlier 
L  thing 

(1  I  are 
"  1  will 
ish  iiie 
L  by  the 
in  the 
om  the 
•f  forces 
,  he  will 
ill  other 


^1', 


(( 


the 


ish  now 
ring  me 


|hing,  in 
I  could 

Dh  great 
Ivernor's 
"that  I 
»o." 

lad  that 
stood 


» 


asked 


captive 
Ito  let  a 


\ 


late  injury  outweigh  an  old  friendship.  1  am  ashamed, 
but  not  only  for  myself.  Let  us  part  in  peace — ay,  let  us 
part  in  peace,"  I  added  with  feeling,  for  the  thought  of 
Alixe  came  rushing  over  me,  and  this  was  her  father ! 

"  Good-by,  Moray,"  he  responded  gravely.  "  You  are 
a  soldier,  and  brave.  If  the  worst  comes,  I  know  how  you 
will  meet  it.  Let  us  waive  all  bitter  thoughts  between 
us.     Good-by." 

We  shook  hands  then,  without  a  word,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment the  dungeon  door  closed  behind  him,  and  I  was 
'dlone.  For  a  moment  my  heart  was  heavy  beyond  tell- 
ing, and  a  terrible  darkness  settled  on  my  spirit.  I  sat 
down  on  my  couch  and  buried  my  head  in  my  hands. 


XL 


THE    COMING    OF    DOLTATRE. 

At  last  I  was  roused  bv  Gabord's  voice. 

He  sat  down,  and  drew  +]ie  leaves  of  faded  corn  be- 
tween his  fingers.  *"Tis  a  poor  life,  this  in  a  cage,  after 
all — eh,  dickey-bird?  If  a  soldier  can't  stand  in  the  field 
fighting,  if  a  man  can't  rub  shoulders  v/ith  man,  and  pitch 
a  tent  of  liis  owl  somewhere,  why  not  go  travelling  with 
the  Beast — alio?  To  have  all  the  life  sucked  out  like 
these — eh?  To  see  the  flesh  melt  and  the  hair  (^^o  white, 
the  eye  to  be  one  hour  bright  like  a  fire  in  a  kiln,  and  the 
next  like  mother  on  workinsj  vlne<j^ar — that's  not  livin<j: 
at  all — no." 

The  speech  had  evidently  cost  him  much  thinking, 
and  when  Vie  ended,  his  cheeks  putfed  out  and  a  soundless 
laugh  seemed  to  gather,  but  it  burst  in  a  sort  of  sigh.  I 
would  have  taken  his  hand  that  moment,  if  I  had  not  re- 
membered when  once  he  drew  back  from  such  demon- 


120 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


>* 
^ 


■t 


strations.  I  did  not  speak,  but  nodded  assent,  and  took 
to  drawing  the  leaves  of  corn  between  my  fingers  as  he 
was  doing. 

After  a  moment,  cocking  liis  liead  at  me  as  might  a 
surly  schoolmaster  in  a  pause  of  leniency,  he  added,  "  As 
quiet,  as  quiet,  and  never  did  he  lly  at  door  of  cage,  nor 
peck  i..t  jailer- -alio  ! " 

I  looked  at  iiim  a  minute  seriously,  and  then,  feeling 
in  my  ^'oat,  handed  to  him  the  knife  which  I  had  secreted, 
with  the  words,  "Enough  for  pecking  with,  ehV" 

lie  looked  at  mc  so  strangel}',  as  lie  weighed  the  knife 
up  and  down  in  his  hand,  that  1  could  not  at  first 
guess  his  thought;  but  presently  1  understood  it,  and  I 
almost  could  have  told  what  he  would  say.  lie  opened 
the  knife,  felt  tlie  blade,  measured  it  along  his  fingers, 
and  then  said,  with  a  little  bursting  of  the  li')s,  '■'■  Foom  f 
But  what  would  ma'm'selle  have  thought  if  (Jabord  was 
found  dead  with  a  hole  in  his  neck — behind  ?     Eh?" 

He  had  struck  the  very  note  that  had  sung  in  me 
when  the  temptation  came ;  but  he  was  gay  at  once  again, 
and  1  said  to  him,  "  What  is  the  hour  fixed  ?  " 

"  Seven  o'clock,"  he  answered,  "  and  1  will  bring  your 
breakfast  first." 

"  Good-night,  then,"  said  I.  "  Coffee  and  a  little  to- 
bacco will  be  enough." 

When  he  was  gone  I  lay  down  on  my  bag  of  straw, 
which,  never  having  been  renewed,  was  now  only  full  of 
worn  chaff,  and,  gathering  myself  in  my  cloak,  was  soon  in 
a  dreamless  sleep. 

I  wake'T  to  the  opening  of  the  dungeon  door,  to  see 
(labord  entering  witli  a  torch  and  a  tray  that  helil  my 
frugal  breakfast.  He  had  added  some  brandy,  also,  of 
which  I  was  glad,  for  it  was  bitter  cold  outside,  as  I  dis- 
covered later.  lie  was  quiet,  seeming  often  to  wish  to 
speak,  but  pausing  before  the  act,  never  getting  beyond 


THE   COMTXG   OP   DOLTAIRE. 


121 


(1  took 
s  as  1 


10 


might  a 
j(l,  "  As 
ige,  nor 


feeling 
eeroted, 


ic  knife 

at  first 

t,  and  I 

opened 

fingers, 

'  Foom  ! 

ord  was 

1?" 

in  me 


e  again, 


ng  your 

ittle  to- 

f  straw, 
full  of 
soon  in 

%  to  see 
leld  my 
also,  of 
s  I  dis- 
wisli  to 
bevond 


a  stumbling  aho !  1  greeted  him  cheerfully  enough. 
After  making  a  little  toilette  I  drank  my  colTee  with 
relisV.  At  last  I  asked  Gabord  if  no  word  had  come  to 
the  citadel  for  me ;  and  he  said  none  at  all,  in)thing  save 
a  message  from  the  Governor,  before  midnight,  ordering 
certain  mjitters.  ^'o  more  was  said,  until,  turning  to  the 
door,  he  told  me  lie  would  return  to  fetch  me  forth  in  a 
few  minutes.  ]iut  when  halfway  out  he  sudfleiily  wheeled, 
came  back,  and  blurted  out,  "  If  you  and  I  could  only 
fight  it  out,  ni'sieu' !  'Tis  ill  for  a  gentleman  and  a  sol- 
dier to  die  without  thrust  or  parry." 

"Gabord,"  said  I,  smiling  jit  him,  "you  preach  good 
sermons  always,  and  I  never  saw  a  man  Fd  rather  light 
and  be  killed  by  than  you!"  'J'hen,  with  an  attempt  at 
rough  humour,  1  added,  "  But,  as  I  told  you  once,  the  knot 
isn't  at  my  throat,  and  FU  tie  another  one  yet  elsewhere 
if  God  loves  honest  men." 

I  had  no  hope  at  all,  yet  I  felt  I  must  say  it.  lie 
nodded,  but  said  nothing,  and  presently  I  was  alone. 

I  sat  down  on  my  straw  couch  and  composec'  myself 
to  think ;  not  upon  my  end,  for  my  mind  was  made  up 
as  to  that,  but  upon  the  girl  vho  was  so  dear  to  me,  whose 
life  had  crept  into  mine  and  filled  it,  making  it  of  value 
in  the  world.  It  must  not  be  thonsj-ht  that  I  no  loncjer 
had  care  for  our  cause,  for  I  would  willingly  have  spent 
my  life  a  hundred  times  f(jr  my  country,  as  my  best 
friends  will  bear  witness;  but  there  comes  a  time  when  a 
man  has  a  right  to  set  all  else  aside  but  his  own  personal 
love  and  welfare,  and  to  me  the  world  was  now  bounded 
by  just  so  much  space  as  my  dear  Alixe  might  move  in. 
I  fastened  my  thought  upon  her  face  as  I  had  last  seen  it. 
]\[y  eyes  seemed  to  search  for  it  also,  and  to  find  it  in  the 
torch  which  stuck  out,  softly  S2)uttering,  from  the  wall. 
I  do  not  pretend,  even  at  this  distance  of  time,  after  hav- 
ing thought  much  over  the  thing,  to  give  any  good  reason 


122 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


for  so  sudden  a  change  as  took  place  in  me  then  and  there. 
All  at  once  a  voice  appeared  to  say  to  me,  "  When  you  are 
gone  she  will  he  Doltaire's.  Kememher  what  she  said. 
•She  fears  him.     lie  has  a  power  over  her." 

Now,  some  will  set  it  down  to  a  low,  unmanly  jealousy 
and  suspicion.  It  is  hard  to  name  it,  but  1  know  that  I  was 
seized  with  a  misery  so  deep  that  all  my  past  sulfcrings 
and  disappointments,  and  even  this  present  horror,  were 
shadowy  beside  it.  I  pictured  to  myself  Alixe  in  Dol- 
taire's arms,  after  I  had  gone  beyond  human  call.  It  is 
strange  how  an  idea  will  seize  us  and  master  us,  and  an 
inconspicuous  possibility  suddenly  stand  out  with  huge 
distinctness.  All  at  once  I  felt  in  my  head  "  the  ring  of 
lire "  of  which  Mathilde  had  warned  me,  a  maddening 
heat  filled  my  veins,  and  that  hateful  picture  grew  more 
vivid.  Things  Alixe  had  said  the  night  before  Hashed  to 
my  mind,  and  I  fancied  that,  unknown  to  herself  even, 
he  already  had  a  suhstantial  power  over  her. 

lie  had  deep  determination,  the  gracious  subtlety  which 
charms  a  woman,  and  she,  hemmed  in  by  his  devices,  over- 
come by  his  pleadings,  attracted  by  his  enviable  personality, 
would  cume  at  last  to  his  will.  The  evening  before  I  had 
seen  strong  signs  of  the  dramatic  qualities  of  her  nature. 
8he  had  the  gift  of  imagination,  the  epic  spirit.  Even 
three  years  previous  I  felt  how  slie  had  seen  every  little  in- 
cident of  her  dailv  life  in  a  wav  which  gave  it  vividness  and 
distinction.  All  things  touched  her  with  delicate  em- 
phasis— were  etched  upon  her  brain — or  did  not  touch  her 
at  all.  She  would  love  the  picturesque  in  life,  though  her 
own  tastes  were  so  simple  and  fine.  Imagination  would 
beset  her  ])ath  with  dangers ;  it  would  be  to  her,  with  her 
beauty,  a  fatal  gift,  a  danger  to  herself  and  others.  She 
would  have  power,  and  feeling  it,  womanlike,  would  use 
it,  dissipating  her  emotions,  paying  out  the  sweetness  of 
her  soul,  till  one  day  a  dramatic  move,  a  strong  pictur- 


THE  COMING  OF  DOLTAIRE. 


123 


wliich 
over- 
ality, 
I  liad 
iture. 
Even 
le  in- 
ss  and 
eni- 
h  her 
h  her 
kvoukl 
h  her 
She 
1  use 
ss  of 
ctur- 


esqiie  personality  like  Doltaire's,  would  catch  her  from 
the  moorings  of  her  truth,  and  the  end  must  be  tragedy 
to  her.  Doltaire  !  Doltaire  !  The  name  burned  into  my 
brain.  Some  prescient  quality  in  me  awaked,  and  I  saw 
her  the  sacrilice  of  her  imagination,  of  tlie  dramatic 
beauty  of  her  nature,  my  enemy  her  tyrant  and  destroyer. 
lie  would  leave  nothing  undone  to  achieve  his  end,  and 
do  nothing  that  would  not  in  the  end  })oison  her  soul 
and  turn  her  very  glories  into  miseries.  How  could  she 
withstand  the  charm  of  his  keen  knowledge  of  the  world, 
tlio  fascination  of  his  temperament,  the  alluring  eloquence 
of  his  fi-ank  wickedness?  And  1  should  rather  a  million 
times  see  her  in  her  grave  than  passed  through  the  atmos- 
phere of  his  life. 

This  may  seem  madness,  selfish  and  small;  but  after- 
events  went  far  to  justify  my  fears  and  imaginings,  for 
behind  all  there  was  a  love,  an  aching,  absorbing  solici- 
tude. I  can  not  think  that  my  anxiety  was  all  vulgar 
smallness  then. 

I  called  him  by  coarse  names  as  I  tramped  up  and 
down  my  dungeon  ;  I  cursed  him ;  impotent  contempt 
was  poured  out  on  him  ;  in  imagination  I  held  him  there 
before  me,  and  choked  him  till  his  eyes  burst  out  and  his 
bodv  grew  limp  in  my  arms.  The  ring  of  fire  in  my  head 
scorched  and  narrowed  till  I  could  have  siirieked  in  agonv. 
Mv  breath  came  short  and  laboured,  and  mv  heart  felt  as 
though  it  were  in  a  vise  and  being  clamped  to  nothing. 
For  an  instant,  also,  I  l)roke  out  in  wild  bitterness  against 
Alixe.  She  had  said  she  would  save  me,  and  vet  in  an 
hour  or  less  I  should  be  dead.  She  had  come  to  me  last 
night — ah,  true;  but  that  was  in  keeping  with  her  dra- 
matic temperament;  it  was  the  drama  of  it  tliat  had  ap- 
pealed to  her;  and  to-morrow  she  would  forget  me,  and 
sink  her  fresh  spirit  in  the  malarial  shadows  of  Doltaire's. 

In  my  passion  I  thrust  my  hand  into  my  waistcoat  and 


124 


THE  SEATS  OP  THE   MICJHTY. 


i. 


i 


unconsciously  drew  out  somctlung.  At  first  my  only  fool- 
ing was  that  my  hand  could  clinch  it,  but  slowly  a  knowl- 
edge of  it  travelled  to  my  brain,  as  if  through  clouds  ai^d 
vapours.  [Now  I  am  no  Catholic,  I  do  not  know  that  I 
am  superstitious,  yet  when  I  became  conscious  that  the 
thing  I  held  was  the  wooden  cross  that  Mathilde  had  given 
me,  a  weird  feeling  passed  through  me,  and  there  was  an 
arrest  of  the  passions  of  mind  jind  body  ;  a  coolness  passed 
over  all  my  nerves,  and  my  brain  got  clear  again,  the  ring 
of  fire  loosing,  melting  away.  It  was  a  hai)py,  diverting 
influence,  which  gave  the  mind  rest  for  a  moment,  till  the 
better  spirit,  the  wiser  feeling,  had  a  chance  to  reassert 
itself ;  but  at  the  time  it  seemed  to  me  almost  supernatural. 

One  can  laugh  Avhen  misery  and  danger  are  over,  and 
it  would  be  easv  to  turn  this  matter  into  ridicule,  but  from 
that  hour  to  this  the  wooden  cross  which  turned  the  flood 
of  my  feelings  then  into  a  saving  channel  has  never  left 
me.  I  keep  it,  not  indeed  for  what  it  was,  but  for  what 
it  did. 

As  I  stood  musing  there  came  to  my  mind  suddenly 
the  words  of  a  song  which  I  had  heai'd  some  voijagciirs 
sing  on  the  St.  Lawrence  as  I  sat  on  the  cliJf  a  hundred 
feet  above  them  and  watched  them  drift  down  in  the 
twilisrht : 


"  Brothers,  we  go  to  the  Sccarlct  Hills: 

(Little  gold  sun,  come  out  of  the  dawn  !) 
There  wc  will  meet  in  the  cedar  groves ; 

(Shining  while  dew,  come  down  !) 
There  is  w  bed  where  you  sleep  so  sound, 
The  little  good  folk  of  the  hills  will  guard. 
Till  the  morning  wakes  and  your  love  comes  home. 
(Fly  away,  heart,  to  the  Scarlet  Hills  I)'' 

Something  in  the  half-mystical,  half-Arcadian  s})irit  of  the 
v'crds  soothed  rie,  lightened  my  thoughts,  so  that  when, 
presently,  Gabr.d  opened  the  door  and  entered  with  four 


THE  COMING  OF  DOLTAIUE. 


125 


soldiers  I  was  calm  oiiough  for  the  groat  shift.  Cabord 
did  uot  spcai\,  but  set  about  pinioning  nie  himself.  I 
asked  him  if  he  could  not  let  mo  go  un})inioned,  for  it 
was  ignoble  to  go  to  one's  death  tied  lii\0  a  beast.  At  first 
he  shook  his  head,  but  as  if  with  a  suthlen  imp  ilse  ho  cast 
the  ropes  aside,  and,  helping  mo  on  with  my  cloak,  threw 
again  over  it  a  heavier  cloak  he  had  brought,  gave  me  a 
fur  cap  to  wear,  and  at  last  himself  put  on  mo  a  pair  of 
woollen  leggings,  which,  if  they  were  no  ornament,  and  to 
bo  of  but  transitory  use  (it  seemed  strange  to  me  thou 
that  one  should  bo  caring  for  a  bodv  so  soon  to  be  cut  off 
from  all  feeling),  were  most  comforting  when  we  came 
into  the  bitter,  steely  air.  (Jabord  might  easily  have  given 
those  last  tasks  to  the  soldiers,  but  he  was  solicitous  to 
perform  them  himself.  Yet  with  surly  brow  and  a  rough 
accent  he  gave  the  word  to  go  forward,  and  in  a  moment 
we  were  marching  through  the  passages,  up  frosty  steps, 
in  the  stone  corridors,  and  on  out  of  the  citadel  into  the 
yard. 

I  remember  that  as  we  passed  into  the  open  air  I  hoard 
the  voice  of  a  soldier  singing  a  gay  air  of  love  and  war. 
Presently  he  came  in  sight.  He  saw  mo,  stood  still  for  a 
moment  looking  curiously,  and  then,  taking  np  the  song 
again  at  the  very  lino  where  he  had  broken  off,  passed 
round  an  angle  of  the  building  and  was  gone.  To  him  I 
was  no  more  than  a  moth  fluttering  in  the  candle,  to  drop 
dead  a  moment  later. 

It  w^as  just  on  tlio  verge  of  sunrise.  There  was  the 
grayish-blue  light  in  the  west,  the  top  of  a  long  range  of 
forest  was  sharply  outlined  against  it,  and  a  timorous 
darkness  was  hurrying  out  of  the  zenith.  In  the  oast  a 
sad,  golden  radiance  was  stealing  up  and  driving  back  the 
mystery  of  the  night  and  that  weird  loneliness  of  an  arctic 
world.  The  city  was  hardly  waking  as  yet,  but  straight 
silver  columns  of  smoke  rolled  up  out  of  many  chimneys. 


120 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MKIIITY. 


and  tlie  goldcMi  cross  on  the  catliedrul  ciuight  the  first  rays 
of  the  sun.  1  was  not  interested  in  the  city ;  I  hud  now, 
as  I  tlioiiglit,  (h)ne  witli  men.  Besides  tlie  four  soldiers 
wlio  liud  brouL,dit  nie  out,  another  squad  surrounded  nie, 
commanded  bv  a  voun<f  otlicer  wliom  1  reeo'niised  as  Cap- 
tain  Lancy,  the  rough  roysterer  who  liad  insuhed  me  at 
lilgot's  palace  over  a  year  ii^^j.  1  looked  with  a  spirit  ab- 
sorbed upon  the  world  about  me,  and  a  hundred  thoughts 
which  had  to  do  with  man's  life  passed  through  my  mind. 
But  the  young  olhcer,  speaking  sharply  to  me,  ordered  me 
on,  and  changed  the  current  of  my  tli oughts.  The  coarse- 
ness of  the  man  and  his  insulting  words  were  hard  to  bear, 
so  that  1  was  constrained  to  ask  him  if  it  were  not  cus- 
tomary to  protect  a  condemned  man  from  insuit  rather 
than  to  expose  him  to  it.  I  said  that  I  should  be  glad  of 
my  last  moments  in  peace.  At  that  he  asked  Clabord  why 
I  was  unbound,  and  my  jailer  answered  that  binding  was 
for  crimirials  who  were  to  be  liinujed  ! 

I  could  scarcely  believe  my  ears.  I  was  to  be  shot,  not 
hanged.  I  had  a  thrill  of  gratitude  which  I  can  iu)t  de- 
scribe. It  may  seem  a  nice  distinction,  but  to  me  there 
were  whole  seas  between  the  two  modes  of  death.  I  need 
not  blush  in  advance  for  being  shot — my  friemls  could 
bear  that  without  humiliation;  but  hanging  would  always 
have  tainted  their  memory  of  me,  try  as  they  would 
against  it. 

"  The  gallows  is  ready,  and  my  orders  were  to  see  him 
hanged,"  Mr.  Lancy  said. 

"An  order  came  at  midniirht  that  he  should  be  shot," 
was  Gabord's  reply,  producing  the  order  and  handing  it 
over. 

The  ofticcr  contemptuously  tossed  it  back,  and  now,  a 
little  more  courteous,  ordered  me  against  the  wall,  and  I 
let  my  cloak  fall  to  the  ground.  I  was  placed  where, 
looking  east.  I  could  see  the  Island  of  Orleans,  on  which 


I 


3t  rays 
1  now, 
[)ldiors 
I'd  ine, 
s  t'ap- 

1110    lit 

rit  ab- 
oughts 

mind, 
red  nie 
t'oarse- 
0  bear, 
ot  eus- 

ratlier 
2;]  ad  of 
rd  wby 
ng  was 

ot,  not 
lot  de- 
there 
need 
could 
ilways 
would 

3e  him 

shot," 
ing  it 


ow,  a 

and  I 

Ivhere, 


r 


I 


y-' 


'55 


V 


Iw 


hicli 


THE  COMING   OF   DOLT  A  III  K. 


127 


was  the  siirnnior-hoiiso  of  tlie  Scifrneur  Diivjiniov.  (Jii- 
l)()nl  ciiine  to  mo  iiiul  said,  "  M'sii'u',  you  an-  a  bravo 
inaii'' — tlu'U,  all  at  oiu'o  broakiuf]^  olT,  ho  adcUnl  in  a  low, 
hurried  voice,  " 'Tis  not  a  long  llight  to  heaven,  in'sicu'!" 
I  eould  see  hid  face  twitching  as  lie  stood  looking  at  nie. 
lie  hardlv  dared  to  turn  round  to  his  comrades,  lost  his 
emotion  should  be  seen.  liut  the  oHicer  roughly  ordered 
him  back.  (Jabord  coolly  drew  out  his  watch,  and  made 
a  motion  to  me  not  to  take  otT  my  cloak  yet. 

" 'Tis  not  the  time  by  six  minutes,"  he  said.  " 'i'ho 
gentleman  is  to  be  shot  to  the  stroke--aho !  "  His  voice 
[lud  manner  were  dogged.  The  olhcer  ste}»ped  forward 
threateningly;  but  (jiabord  said  something  angrily  in  an 
undertone,  and  the  other  turned  on  his  heel  and  began 
Avalking  up  aiul  down.  This  continued  for  a  moment,  in 
which  we  all  were  very  still  and  bitter  cold — the  air  cut 
like  steel — and  then  my  heart  gave  a  great  leap,  for 
suddenly  there  stepped  into  the  yard  Doltaire.  Action 
seemed  suspended  in  me,  but  I  know  I  listened  with 
singular  curiosity  to  the  shrill  creaking  of  his  boots  on 
the  frosty  earth,  and  I  noticed  that  the  fur  collar  of  the 
coat  he  wore  was  all  white  with  the  frozen  moisture  of 
his  breath,  also  that  tiny  icicles  hung  from  his  eyelashes, 
lie  came  down  the  yard  slowly,  and  presently  paused  and 
looked  at  Gabord  and  the  young  officer,  his  head  laid  a 
little  to  one  side  in  a  quizzical  fashion,  his  eyelids 
drooping. 

"What  time  was  monsieur  to  be  shot?"  he  asked  of 
Captain  Laucy. 

"  At  seven  o'clock,  monsieur,"  was  the  reply. 

Doltaire  took  out  his  watch.  "  It  wants  three  minutes 
of  seven,"  said  he.  "  What  the  devil  means  this  business 
before  the  stroke  o*  the  hour?  "  waving  a  hand  towards  me. 

"  We  were  waiting  for  the  minute,  monsieur,"  was 
the  officer's  reply. 


I'JS 


TIIK   SKATS   OF  TIIK   MKIIITY. 


A  cynical,  I'uttiii;;  siiiilo  crossed  Doltairc's  face.  *' A 
(;liai'itul)li'  trick,  upon  my  soul,  to  futch  a  «;cntl('iiiaii  from 
a  warjn  (liiii;,^'oM  and  stand  liiin  a<;ainst  an  icy  wall  on  a 
deadlv  inornin;;  to  cauA  his  liocls  as  ho  waits  for  Ids  hour 
to  die!  ^'ouM  skin  your  lion  and  shoot  him  afterwards 
—  ro/Vri  / "  All  this  time  he  heKl  the  watch  in  his 
liand. 

"  Von,  (ial)ord,"  he  went  on,  "you  ai'e  a  man  to  obey 
orders — eh  ^ '' 

(Jabord  hesitated  a  moment  as  if  waitin*,'  for  I.ancy  to 
Fpeak,  and  then  said,  "J  was  not  in  command.  \\  hen  I 
was  called  ui)on  I  brought  him  forth/' 

"  Excuses  !  excuses !  Vou  sweated  to  be  rid  of  your 
cliarge." 

(Jabord's  face  hjwered.  "  M'sieu' would  liavo  been  in 
lieaven  by  this  if  1  hadu't  sto])ped  it,"  he  broke  out 
an<(rily. 

Dollaire  turned  sharply  on  Laney.  "I  thought  as 
much,"  said  he,  "  and  yon  wonld  have  lot  (Jabord  share 
your  misdemeanour.  Yet  your  father  was  u  gentleman  ! 
If  you  had  shot  monsieur  before  seven,  you  would  have 
taken  the  dungeon  he  left.  You  must  learn,  my  young 
l)rovincial,  that  you  are  not  to  supersede  France  and  the 
King.  It  is  now  seven  o'clock;  you  wUl  march  your  men 
back  into  quarters." 

Thou  turning  to  mo,  ho  raised  his  cap.  "You  will 
find  your  cloak  more  comfortable,  (^iptain  ^[oray,"  said 
ho,  and  he  motioned  CJabord  to  hand  it  to  mo,  as  he  came 
forward.  "  .Afay  I  breakfast  with  you?"  he  added  cour- 
teously. He  yawned  a  little.  "  I  have  not  risen  so  early 
in  years,  and  I  am  chilled  to  the  bono,     (iabord  insists 


that  it  is  warm  in  your   dungeon;  I  have  a   fancy  to 
breakfast  there.     It  will  recall  my  year  in  the  Bastile." 

lie  smiled  in  a  quaint,  elusive  sort  of  fashion,  and  as  I 
drew  the  cloak  about  me  I  said  through  chattering  teeth, 


TIIH  rOMIN(J   OF  DOLTAIIU"!. 


1L>0 


0. 


{( 


A 

in  from 
all  oil  a 
lis  lioiir 
iTwanis 
ill    his 

to  obey 

.atu'V  to 
When  1 

of  your 

ht't'ii  in 
jku  out 

iiijlit  as 
(1  share 

leinan  ! 

(1  have 
young 

lul  the 

ur  men 

ou  will 
y,"  said 
10  came 
I  cour- 
30  early 
insists 
uicy  to 
ile." 
nd  as  I 
^  teeth, 


for  I  had  sulT(>rod  witli  tlic  ))rutal  cold,  "I  ant  <,dad  to 
Inive  the  chance  to  olTcr  breakfast." 

"To  nie  or  any  one?  "  he  dryly  su^'iji'sicd.  "  'I'hink  ! 
by  now,  had  1  not  coin(»,  you  nii;;ht  have  hem  in  a 
warmer  world  than  this — indeed,  nnich  warmer,"  he  siid- 
di'iily  said,  as  he  stoo()ed,  piiikcd  up  some  snow  in  his 
b;ire  hand  and  clapped  it  to  my  check,  rubhini,'  it  with 
U>\vo  and  swiftness.  Tlie  (;old  hati  nipped  it,  and  this 
was  the  way  to  draw  out  the  frost.  His  solicitude  at  the 
moment  was  so  natural  and  earnest  that  it  was  iiard  to 
think  h(!  was  my  eiu'my. 

When  lu!  had  rublx'd  awhile,  he  gave  me  his  owti 
handkerchief  to  dry  my  face;  and  so  i)erfect  was  his 
courtesy,  it  was  impossible  to  do  otherwise  than  meet 
liim  as  he  meant  and  showed  lor  the  moment.  He  had 
Btep])ed  between  me  and  death,  and  even  an  ciu'iny  who 
does  that,  no  matter  what  the  motive,  deserves  something 
ut  vour  hands. 

"  CJabord,"  he  said,  as  we  step))cd  inside  the  citadel, 
"we  will  breakfast  ut  eight  o'(!l()ck.  Meanwhile  I  have 
some  duties  with  our  oflicers  here.  Till  we  meet  in  your 
dining-hall,  then,  monsieur,"  he  added  to  me,  and  raised 
his  cap. 

"  You  1  ust  put  up  witli  frugal  fare,"  I  answered, 
bowing. 

"  If  you  but  furnish  locusts,"  he  said  gaily,  "  I  will 
bring  the  wild  honev.  .  .  .  What  wonderful  hives  of  bees 
they  have  at  the  Seigneur  Duvarney's!"  he  continued 
musingly,  as  if  with  second  thought;  "a  beautiful  manor 
— a  })lace  for  pretty  birds  and  honey-bees  !  " 

His  eyelids  drooped  languidly,  as  was  their  way  when 
ho  had  said  something  a  little  carbolic,  as  this  was  to  me 
because  of  its  hateful  sujrjrestion.     His  words  drew  notli- 


'jifi" 


ing  from  me,  not  even  a  look  of  understanding,  and  again 


bow 


o' 


ing  we  went  our  ways. 


130 


THE  SEATS  OF  '?HE  MIGHTY. 


I 


At  the  door  of  the  dungeon  Gabord  held  the  torch  up 
to  my  face.  His  own  had  a  look  which  came  as  near  to 
being  gentle  as  was  possible  to  him.  Yet  he  was  so  ugly 
that  it  appeared  almost  ludicrous  in  him. 

'''' Poom ! ''"'  said  he.  "A  friend  at  court.  More  com- 
fits." 

"You  think  Monsieur  Doltaire  gets  comfits  too?" 
asked  I. 

He  rubbed  his  cheek  with  a  key.  "  Alio  ! "  mused  he 
—"alio !    M'sieu'  Doltaire  rises  not  early  for  naught." 


XII. 

"  THE   POINT   ENVENOMED   TOO  !  " 

I  WAS  roused  by  the  opening  of  die  door.  Doltaire  en- 
tered. He  advanced  towards  me  with  the  manner  of  an 
admired  comrade,  and,  with  no  trace  of  what  would  mark 
him  as  my  foe,  said,  as  he  snilfed  the  air : 

"Monsieur,  I  have  been  selfish.  I  asked  myself  to 
breakfast  with  you,  yet,  while  I  love  the  new  experience, 
I  will  deny  myself  in  this.  You  shall  breakfast  with  me, 
as  you  pass  to  your  new  lodgings.  You  must  not  say  no," 
he  added,  as  though  we  were  in  some  salon.  "  I  have  a 
sieigli  here  at  the  door,  and  a  fellow  has  already  gone  to 
fan  my  kitchen  fires  and  forage  for  the  table.  Come," 
he  continued,  "let  me  help  you  with  your  cloak." 

lie  threw  my  cloak  around  me,  and  turned  towards 
the  door.  I  had  not  spoken  a  word,  for  what  with  weak- 
ness, the  announcement  that  I  was  to  have  new  lodgings, 
and  the  sudden  change  in  my  uffairs,  I  was  like  a  child 
walking  in  its  sleep.  I  could  do  no  more  than  bow  to 
him  and  force  a  smile,  which  must  have  told  more  than 
aught  else  of  my  state,  for  he  stepped  to  my  side  and 


torch  up 
3  near  to 
5  so  ugly 

)re  com- 

s  too?" 

lused  he 
ght." 


taire  en- 
er  of  an 
Id  mark 

self   to 

lerience, 

ith  me, 

lay  no," 

have  a 

one  to 

|Come," 

[owards 

weak- 

Iging's, 

child 

Ibow  to 

le  than 

le  and 


«'TIIE   POINT   ENVENOMED  TOO!" 


131 


offered  me  his  arm.  I  drew  back  from  that  witli  thanks, 
for  1  felt  a  quick  hatred  of  myself  that  I  should  take  fa- 
vours from  the  man  who  had  moved  for  my  destruction 
and  to  wickedly  steal  from  me  my  promised  wife.  Yet 
it  was  my  duty  to  live  if  1  could,  to  escape  if  that  were 
possible,  to  use  every  means  to  foil  my  enemies.  It  was 
all  a  game  ;  why  should  I  not  accept  advances  at  my 
enemy's  hands,  and  match  dissimulation  with  dissimula- 
tion ? 

When  I  refused  his  arm  he  smiled  comicallv,  and 
raised  his  shoulders  in  deprecation. 

"  You  forget  your  dignity,  monsieur,"  I  said  presently 
as  Wb  walked  on,  Gabord  meeting  us  and  lighting  us 
through  the  passages  ;  •'  you  voted  me  a  villain,  a  spy,  at 
my  trial ! " 

"  Technically  and  publicly,  you  are  a  spy,  a  vulgar 
criminal,"  he  replied  ;  "  privately,  you  are  a  foolish,  blun- 
dering gentleman." 

"A  soldier  also,  you  will  admit,  who  keeps  his  com- 
pact with  his  enemy." 

"  Otherwise  we  should  not  breakfast  together  this 
morning,"  he  answered.  "What  di'Terence  would  it 
make  to  this  government  if  our  private  matter  had  been 
dragged  in  ?  Technically  you  still  would  htive  been  the 
spy.  But  I  will  say  tliis,  monsieur,  to  me  you  are  a  man 
better  worth  torture  than  death." 

"  Do  you  ever  stop  to  think  of  how  this  may  end  foi 
you?"  I  asked  quietly. 

He  seemed  pleased  at  the  question.  "  I  have  thought 
it  might  be  interesting,"  he  answered  ;  "  else,  as  I  said, 
you  should  long  ago  have  left  this  naughty  world.  Is 
it  in  your  mind  that  we  shall  cross  swords  one  day  ?  " 

"I  feel  it  in  my  bones,"  said  I,  "  that  I  shall  kill  you." 

At  that  moment  we  stood  at  the  entrance  to  the  cita- 
del, where   a   good   pair  of  horses  and  a  sleigh  awaited 


182 


THE  SEATS  OF  TOE   MIGHTY. 


us.  We  got  in,  the  robes  were  piled  around  us,  and  the 
horses  started  off  at  a  lorg  trot.  I  was  muflled  to  the 
ears,  but  I  could  see  how  white  and  beautiful  was  the 
world,  how  the  frost  glistened  in  the  trees,  how  the  bal- 
sams were  weighted  down  with  snow,  and  how  snug  tlie 
chateau:-;  looked  with  the  smoke  curling  up  from  their 
lunudied  chimneys. 

Presently  Doltaire  replied  to  my  last  remaik.  "Con- 
viction is  the  executioner  of  the  stupid,"  said  he.  "  Wlien 
a  man  is  not  great  enough  to  let  change  and  chance  guide 
him  he  gets  convictions  and  dies  a  fool." 

"  Conviction  has  made  men  and  mitions  strons:,"  I 
rejoined. 

"  lias  made  men  and  nations  asses,"  he  retorted.  "  The 
Mohammedan  has  conviction,  so  has  the  Christian :  they 
die  fighting  each  other,  and  the  philosoi)her  sits  by  and 
laughs.  Expediency,  monsieur,  expediency  is  the  real 
wisdom,  the  true  muster  of  this  world.  Expediency  saved 
your  life  to-day ;  conviction  would  have  sent  you  to  a  starry 
home." 

As  he  spoke  a  thought  came  in  on  me.  Here  we  were 
in  the  open  world,  travelling  together,  without  a  guard  of 
any  kind.  Was  it  not  possible  to  make  a  dash  for  free- 
dom ?  The  idea  was  put  away  from  me,  and  yet  it  was  a 
fresh  accent  of  Doltaire's  character  that  he  tempted  me  in 
this  way.  As  if  he  divined  what  I  thought,  he  said  to  me 
— for  I  made  no  attempt  to  answer  his  question : 

"  Men  of  sense  never  confuse  issues  or  choose  the 
wrong  time  for  their  purposes.  Foea  may  have  unwritten 
truces." 

There  was  the  matter  in  a  nutshell.  He  had  done 
nothing  carelessly;  he  was  touching  oif  our  conflict  with 
flashes  of  genius.  lie  was  the  man  who  had  roused  in  me 
last  night  the  fiercest  passions  of  my  life,  and  yet  this 
morning  he  had  saved   me   from  death,  and  though  he 


0 


tl 


THE  POINT  ENVENOMED  TOO!" 


l;33 


iiul  the 
to  tlie 

ft' as  the 
the  bal- 
ing tlie 
m  their 


"  Con- 
"  When 
)e  guide 


ong, 


5? 


.  "The 
in :  they 
3  by  and 
the  real 
cy  saved 
a  starry 

|we  were 
uard  of 
[or  free- 
lit  was  a 
(d  me  in 
Id  to  nie 

)se  the 
[written 

id  done 
let  with 
ll  in  me 

I'ct  this 
Ingh  he 


was  still  my  sworn  enemy  I  was  about  to  breakfast  with 
him. 

Already  tlie  streets  of  the  town  were  tilling  ;  for  it  was 
tlie  day  before  Christmas,  and  it  would  be  the  great  mar- 
ket-day of  the  year.  Few  noticed  us  as  we  sju'd  along 
down  Palace  Streei,  and  1  coukl  not  conceive  whither  we 
were  going,  until,  passing  the  Hotel  Dieu,  1  saw  in  front 
of  us  ihe  Intendance.  I  remembered  the  last  time  1  was 
there  and  what  had  happened  then,  and  a  thought  Hashed 
through  me  that  perhaps  this  was  another  trap,  liut  1 
put  it  from  me,  and  soon  afterwards  Doltaire  said  : 

"  I  have  now  a  slice  of  the  Intendance  for  my  own,  and 
we  shall  breakfast  like  squirrels  in  a  loft." 

As  we  drove  into  the  open  space  before  the  palace  a 
company  of  soldiers  standing  before  the  great  door  began 
marching  np  to  the  road  by  which  we  came.  With  them 
was  a  prisoner.  I  saw  at  once  that  he  was  a  British  otlicer, 
but  I  did  not  recognise  his  face.  I  asked  his  name  of 
Doltaire  and  found  it  was  one  Lieutenant  Stevenson,  of 
Kogers's  Rangers,  those  brave  Xew-Englanders.  After  an 
interview  with  Bigot  he  was  being  taken  to  the  common 
jail.  To  my  request  that  I  might  speak  with  him  Dol- 
taire assented,  and  at  a  sign  from  my  companion  the  sol- 
diers stopped.  Stevenson's  eyes  were  fixed  on  me  with  a 
puzzled,  disturbed  expression.  lie  was  well  built,  of  in- 
trepid bearing,  with  a  fine  openness  of  manner  joined  to 
handsome  features.  But  there  was  a  recklessness  in  his 
eye  which  seemed  to  me  to  come  nearer  the  swashbuckling 
character  of  a  young  French  seigneur  than  the  wariness  of 
a  British  soldier. 

I  spoke  his  name  and  introduced  myself.  Ins  surprise 
and  pleasure  were  pronounced,  for  he  had  thought  (as  he 
said)  that  by  this  time  I  should  be  dead.  There  was  an 
instant's  flash  of  his  eye,  as  if  a  suspicion  of  my  loyalty 

had  crossed  his  mind  ;  but  it  was  gone  on  the  instant,  and 
10 


134 


THE  SEATS  OP  THE  MIGHTY. 


immediately  Doltaire,  who  also  had  interpreted  the  look, 
smiled,  and  said  he  had  carried  me  olf  to  breakfast  while 
the  furniture  of  my  former  prison  was  being  shifted  to  my 
new  one.  After  a  word  or  two  more,  with  Stevenson's  as- 
surance that  the  British  had  recovered  from  Hraddock's 
defeat  and  would  presently  be  knocking  at  the  portals  of 
the  Chateau  St.  Louis,  we  parted,  and  soon  Doltaire  and  I 
got  out  at  the  high  stone  steps  of  the  palace. 

Standing  there  for  a  moment  I  h)oked  round.  In  this 
space  surrounding  the  Intendance  was  gathered  the  his- 
tory of  Xew  France.  This  palace,  large  enough  for  the 
king  of  a  European  country  with  a  population  of  a  mil- 
lion, was  the  oflicial  residence  of  the  commercial  ruler  of 
a  province.  It  was  the  house  of  the  miller,  and  across  the 
way  was  the  King's  storehouse.  La  Fri])onne,  where  poor 
folk  were  ground  between  the  stones.  The  great  square 
was  already  filling  with  people  who  had  come  to  trade. 
Here  were  barrels  of  malt  being  unloaded  ;  there,  great 
sacks  of  grain,  bags  of  dried  fruits,  bales  of  home-made 
cloth,  and  loads  of  fine-sawn  boards  and  timber.  Moving 
about  among  the  peasants  were  the  regular  soldiers  in 
their  white  uniforms  faced  with  blue,  red,  yellow,  or  vio- 
let, with  black  three-cornered  hats,  and  black  gaiters  from 
foot  to  knee,  and  the  militia  in  coats  of  white  with  black 
facings.  Behind  a  great  collar  of  dogskin  a  pair  of  jet- 
black  eyes  flashed  out  from  nnder  a  pretty  forehead ;  and 
presently  one  saw  these  same  eyes  grown  sorrowful  or  dull 
under  heavy  knotted  brows,  which  told  of  a  life  too  vexed 
by  care  and  labour  to  keep  alive  a  spark  of  youth's  ro- 
mance. Now  the  bell  in  the  tower  above  us  rang  a  short 
peal,  the  signal  for  the  opening  of  La  Friponne,  and  the 
bustling  crowd  moved  towards  its  doors.  As  I  stood  there 
on  the  great  steps,  I  clianced  to  look  along  the  plain,  bare 
front  of  the  palace  to  an  annex  at  the  end,  and  standing 
in  a  doorway  opening  on  a  pair  of  steps  was  Voban.     I 


"THE  POINT  ENVEXOMED  TOO!" 


135 


le  look, 
5t  while 
d  to  my 
ion's  as- 
d  dock's 
)rtals  of 
re  and  I 

In  this 
the  his- 
for  the 
if  a  mil- 
ruler  of 
3ross  the 
ere  poor 
it  square 
to  trade. 
fre,  great 
me-made 
^Moving 
diers  in 
,  or  vio- 
ers  from 
th  black 
r  of  jet- 
ad  ;  and 
il  or  didl 
00  vexed 
ith's  ro- 
g  a  short 
and  the 
od  tliere 
ain,  bare 
standing 
obau.     1 


' 


was  amazed  that  he  sliould  be  there — tlie  man  whose  life 
had  been  spoiled  by  Bigot.  At  tiie  same  moment  Doltaire 
motioned  to  iiim  to  return  inside;  wiiich  lie  did. 

Doltaire  laughed  at  my  surprise,  and,  jis  he  showed  mo 
inside  tlie  palace,  said  :  "  There  is  no  barber  in  the  world 
like  Voban.  Interesting !  interesting !  1  love  to  watch 
his  eye  when  he  draws  the  razor  down  my  throat.  It 
would  be  so  easy  to  fetch  it  across ;  but  Voban,  as  you  see, 
is  not  a  man  of  absolute  conviction.  It  will  be  sport,  some 
day,  to  put  Bigot's  valet  to  bed  with  a  broken  leg  or  a  lit 
of  spleen,  and  send  Voban  to  shave  him." 

"Where  is  Mathilde?"  I  asked,  as  though  I  knew 
naught  of  her  whereabouts. 

"Mathilde  is  where  none  may  touch  her,  monsieur : 
even  under  the  protection  of  the  daintiest  lady  of  New 
France.  It  is  her  whim  ;  and  when  a  lady  is  charming, 
an  Intendant,  even,  must  not  trouble  her  caprice." 

He  did  not  need  to  speak  more  phdnly.  It  was  ho 
who  had  prevented  Bigot  from  taking  ^lathilde  away 
from  Alixe  and  locking  her  up,  or  worse.  I  said  noth- 
ing, however,  and  soon  we  were  in  a  large  room  sumjitu- 
ously  furnished,  looking  out  on  the  great  square.  The 
morning  sun  stared  in,  some  snowbirds  twittered  on  the 
window-sill,  and  inside,  a  canary,  in  an  alcove  hung  with 
plants  and  llowers,  sang  as  if  it  were  the  heart  of  summer. 
All  was  warm  and  comfortable,  and  it  was  like  a  dream 
that  I  had  just  come  from  the  dismal  chance  of  a  miser- 
able death.  My  cloak  and  cap  and  leii-irin<;s  h:id  been  taken 
from  me  when  I  entered,  as  conrteously  as  though  I  had 
been  King  Louis  himself,  and  a  great  chair  was  drawn 
solicitously  to  the  fire.  All  this  was  done  by  the  servant, 
after  one  quick  look  from  Doltaire.  The  man  seemed 
to  understand  his  master  perfectly,  to  read  one  look  us 
though  it  were  a  volume — 

*'The  constant  service  of  the  antique  world." 


186 


THE  SKATS  OK  TFIE    MKIIITV 


Sucli  wns  Doltiiiro's  iiifluonce.  Tlie  closer  you  came 
to  him,  the  more  compelling  was  he — ii  devilish  attrac- 
tion, iiotiil>ly  selfish,  yet  eainible  of  benevolence.  Two 
years  before  this  time  I  saw  him  lift  a  load  from  the  back 
of  a  peasant  woman  and  carry  it  home  for  her,  putting 
into  her  hand  a  gold  piece  on  leaving.  At  another  time, 
an  old  man  had  died  of  a  foul  disease  in  a  miserable  n})per 
room  of  a  wjirehouse.  Doltaire  was  passing  at  the  moment 
when  the  body  should  be  carried  to  burial.  The  stricken 
widow  of  the  dead  man  stood  below,  waiting,  but  no  one 
would  fetch  forth  the  corpse.  Doltaire  stopped  and  ques- 
tioned her  kindly,  and  in  another  minute  he  was  driving 
the  carter  and  another  ujjstairs  at  the  point  of  his  sword. 
Together  they  brought  the  body  down,  and  Doltaire  fol- 
lowed it  to  the  burying-ground,  keeping  the  graved igger 
at  his  task  when  he  would  have  run  away,  and  saying  the 
responses  to  the  priest  in  the  short  service  read  above  the 
grave. 

I  said  to  him  then,  "  You  rail  at  the  world  and  scoff  at 
men  and  many  decencies,  and  yet  you  do  these  things ! " 

To  this  he  replied — he  was  in  my  own  lodgings  at  the 
time — "  The  brain  may  call  all  men  liars  and  fools,  but  the 
senses  feel  the  shock  of  misery  which  we  do  not  ourselves 
inflict.  Inflicting,  we  are  prone  to  cruelty,  as  you  have  seen 
a  schoolmaster  begin  punishment  with  tears,  grow  angry 
at  the  shrinking  back  under  his  cane,  and  give  way  to  a 
sudden  lust  of  torture.  I  have  little  pity  for  those  who 
can  help  themselves — let  them  fight  or  eat  the  leek ;  but 
the  child  and  the  hel[)less  and  the  sick  it  is  a  pleasure  to 
aid.  I  love  the  poor  as  much  as  I  love  anything.  I  could 
live  their  life,  if  I  were  put  to  it.  As  a  gentleman,  I  hate 
squalor  and  the  puddles  of  wretchedness:  but  I  could 
have  worked  at  the  plough  or  the  anvil ;  I  could  have  dug 
in  the  earth  till  my  knuckles  grew  big  and  my  shoulders 
hardened  to  a  roundness,  have  eaten  my  beans  and  pork 


"THE   POINT   ENVENOMED  TOO!" 


137 


1  cume 
attriic- 
,  Two 
le  back 
putting 

T  tillU', 

?  u})p('r 
iioiuent 
trickoii 
no  one 
d  ques- 
driving 
1  sword, 
ire  I'ol- 
edigger 
ing  the 
ove  the 

scoff  lit 
ngs!" 
s  at  the 
jut  the 
irselves 
Lve  seen 
V  angry 
ay  to  a 
)se  who 
■k ;  but 
sure  to 
I  could 
,  I  liate 
could 
ive  dug 
oulders 
id  pork 


and  poa-sonp,  and  have  been  a  healthy  ox,  munching  the 
bread  of  industry  and  trailing  the  puissant  pike,  an  obe- 
dient serf.  1  have  no  etiiics,  and  yet  1  am  on  the  side  of 
the  just  when  they  do  not  put  thorns  in  my  bed  to  keep 
me  awake  at  night !  " 

rpon  the  walls  liung  suits  of  armour,  swo/ds  of  beauti- 
ful nuike,  s[)ears,  belts  of  wonderful  worknumship,  a  tat- 
tered banner,  sashes  knit  by  ladies'  lingers,  poueiies,  l)an- 
doleers,  and  numy  agreeable  sketches  of  scenes  tluit  1  knew 
Avell.  ^«'ow  and  then  a  woman's  head  in  oils  or  pencil 
peeped  out  from  the  abundant  ornaments.  1  recuiled 
then  another  thing  he  said  at  that  timt  of  wliich  I 
write : 

"  1  have  never  juggled  with  my  conscience — never 
'made  believe  '  with  it.  My  will  was  always  stronger  than 
my  wish  for  anything,  always  stronger  tlian  temptation. 
I  have  cliosen  tiiis  way  or  that  cU'liberatcly.  I  am  ever 
ready  to  face  consequences,  and  I  never  cry  out.  It  is 
the  ass  undeserving  of  either  reward  or  })unishment  who 
says  that  something  carried  him  away,  and,  being  weak, 
lie  fell.  That  is  a  poor  man  m'Iio  is  no  stronger  than 
his  passions.  I  can  understand  the  devil  fighting  God, 
and  taking  the  long  punishment  without  repentance,  like 
a  powerful  jirince  as  he  was.  I  could  understand  a  ])eas- 
ant  killing  King  Louis  in  the  palace,  and  being  ready,  if 
he  had  a  hundred  lives,  to  give  them  all,  liaving  done  the 
deed  he  set  out  to  do.  If  a  man  must  have  convictions 
of  that  sort,  he  can  escape  everlasting  laughter — the  llnal 
hell — only  by  facing  the  rebound  of  his  wild  d-eds." 

These  were  strange  sentiments  in  the  mouth  of  a  man 
who  was  ever  the  mannered  courtier,  and  as  I  sat  there 
alone,  while  he  was  gone  elsewhere  for  some  minutes, 
many  such  things  he  had  said  came  back  to  me,  sug- 
gested, no  doubt,  by  this  new,  inex))iicable  attitude  to- 
wards myself.     I  could  trace  some  of  his  sentiments,  per- 


138 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


hiips  va<^ucly,  to  the  fact  tliut — as  I  liad  come  to  know 
through  tlic  Seigneur  Duvarncy — liis  niollier  was  of  peas- 
ant hlood,  the  hcautiful  (hiughter  of  a  farmer  of  Poicliers, 
^vlK)  liad  (lied  soon  after  giving  birtli  to  Dohaire.  ILis 
l)eeuliar  nature  had  shown  itself  in  his  refusal  to  accept  u 
title.  It  was  liis  whim  to  be  the  plain  "^lonsieur";  l)e- 
hind  whi(;h  was,  perhaps,  some  native  arrogancy  that 
miidc  him  prefer  this  to  being  a  Jioble  whose  origin, 
well  knowii,  must  ever  int.rfeie  with  his  ambitions. 
Then,  too,  mayl)e,  the  peasant  in  him — never  in  his  face 
or  form,  which  were  patrician  altogether — spoke  for  more 
truth  and  manliness  Jian  he  was  capable  of,  and  so  he 
chose  to  be  the  cynical,  irresponsible  c(*urtier,  while  many 
of  his  instincts  liad  urged  him  to  the  peasant's  integrity. 
He  had  undisturbed  however  one  instinct  of  the  ])easani 
— a  good  directness,  evident  mostly  in  the  clearness  of  his 
thoughts. 

As  tliese  tilings  luirried  through  my  mind,  my  body 
sunk  in  a  kind  of  restf  ulness  before  the  great  fire,  Doltaire 
came  back. 

"  I  will  not  keep  you  from  breakfast,"  said  he.  "  Voban 
must  wait,  if  you  will  pass  by  untidiness." 

A  thought  flashed  through  my  mind.  Perhaps  Voban 
had  some  word  for  me  from  Alixe !  So  I  said  instantly, 
"  I  am  not  hungry.  Perhaps  you  will  let  me  wait  yonder 
while  Voban  tends  you.  As  you  said,  it  should  le  inter- 
esting-" 

"  You  will  not  mind  the  disorder  of  my  dressing-room? 
Well,  then,  this  way,  and  we  can  talk  wdiile  Voban  plays 
with  temptation." 

So  saying,  he  courteously  led  the  way  into  another 
chamber  where  Voban  stood  waiting.  I  spoke  to  him, 
and  he  bowed  but  did  not  speak;  and  then  Doltaire 
said  : 

"  You  see,  Voban,  your  labour  on  monsieur  was  wasted 


0  know 

[)f  pc'iis- 
oictiiThi, 
c.  J  lis 
iicoopt  a. 
r";  he- 
cy  that 
origin, 
ibitions. 
iiis  face 
or  more 
d  so  he 
le  many 
itogrity. 
])easani 
ss  of  his 

ny  body 
Doltaire 

Voban 

Vol^an 
itar.tly, 
vonder 
iuter- 

-room? 
ti  plays 

u^other 
o  him, 
)olUire 

wasted 


"THE   POINT   EXVEXOMED  TOO! 


139 


so  far  as  concerns  the  wor]<l  to  como.  Yon  trimmed  him 
for  the  ghjrious  com})any  of  the  apostk's,  and  sco,  ho 
breakfasts  with  Monsieur  Doltaire — in  the  Inteiidance, 
too,  my  \'oban,  which,  as  you  know,  is  wicked — a  very 
nest  of  wasps  I " 

I  never  saw  more  hate  than  shot  out  of  V'oban's  eyes 
at  that  moment;  but  the  lids  drooped  over  them  at  once, 
and  he  made  ready  for  his  work,  as  Uoltaire,  putting  aside 
his  coat,  seated  himself,  laughing.  There  was  no  little 
daring,  as  there  was  crn.elty,  in  thus  torturing  a  man 
whose  life  had  been  ])roken  by  T)oltaire\s  associate.  1 
wondered  now  and  then  if  Doltaire  were  not  really  put- 
ting acid  on  the  barber's  bare  nerves  for  some  other  pur- 
pose than  mere  general  cruelty.  Even  as  he  would  have 
understood  the  peasant's  murder  of  King  Louis,  so  he 
would  have  seen  a  logical  end  to  a  terrible  game  in  Bigot's 
death  at  the  hand  of  Voban.  Possibly  he  wondered  that 
Vol)an  did  not  strike,  and  he  liimself  took  delight  in 
showing  him  his  own  wrongs  occasionally.  'J'hen,  again, 
T  jltaire  might  wish  for  Bigot's  death,  to  succeed  him 
in  his  place !  But  this  I  put  by  as  iniprol)able,  for  the 
Intendant's  post  was  not  his  ambition,  or,  favourite  of  La 
Pompadour  as  he  was,  he  would,  desiring,  have  long  ago 
achieved  that  end.  Moreover,  every  evidence  showed  that 
he  would  gladly  return  to  France,  for  his  clear  brain  fore- 
saw the  final  ruin  of  the  colony  and  the  triumph  of  the 
British.     lie  had  once  said  in  my  hearing: 

"Those  swaggering  Englishmen  will  keep  coming  on. 
They  are  too  stujiid  to  turn  back.  The  eternal  sameness 
I'f  it  all  will  so  distress  us  we  shall  awake  one  morning, 
(ind  thciii  at  our  bedsides,  give  a  kick,  and  die  from  sheer 
ennui.  They'll  use  our  banners  to  boil  their  fat  puddings 
in,  they'll  roast  oxen  in  the  highways,  and  after  our 
girls  have  married  them  they'll  turn  them  into  kitchen 
wenches  with  frowsy  skirfj  and  ankles  like  beeves!" 


140 


THE  SKATS  OF  THE    MKIHTY. 


But,  indeed,  beiieiitli  liis  d.'in^^eroiis  irony  there  was  a 
fitraiii  of  irnpisluiesH,  and  he  would,  if  neeil  bo,  hiugli  at 
hia  own  troni)Ie.s,  and  torture  himself  as  ho  had  tortured 
otiiers.  'i'liis  niornin*^'  lie  was  full  )f  a  carbolic  humour. 
As  the  razor  camo  to  his  neck  \\v  s:iid  : 

"  \'oban,  a  barl)er  must  have  })atieiu'e.  It  is  a  sad 
tliin<^  to  mistake  friend  for  enemy.  What  is  a  friend?  Is 
it  one  wh    says  sweet  words?  " 

There  wjis  a  pause,  in  which  ihc  shaving  went  on,  and 
tlien  he  continued  : 

"Is  it  he  who  says,  I  hnve  eatei\  A'ol)an's  bread,  and 
Voban  sliall  tlierefore  go  to  i)rison  or  be  hurried  to  Wal- 
halia?  Or  is  it  lu;  wlu)  stays  the  iron  hand,  who  puts 
nettU's  in  N'oban's  cold,  cokl  bed,  that  he  may  rise  early 
and  go  forth  among  tlie  heroes?" 

I  do  not  think  Voban  understood  that,  through  some 
freak  of  purpose,  Doltaire  was  telling  him  thus  obliquely 
he  had  saved  him  from  Bigot's  cruelty,  from  prison  or 
death.  Once  or  twice  he  glanced  at  me,  but  not  mean- 
ingly, for  Doltaire  was  seated  opposite  a  mirror,  and  could 
see  each  motion  made  by  either  of  us.  Presently  Doltaire 
said  to  me  idlv  : 

"I  dine  to-day  at  the  Seigneur  Duvarney's.  You  will 
be  glad  to  hear  that  mademoiselle  bids  fair  to  rival  the 
charming  ^[adame  Cournal.  Ilor  followers  are  as  manv, 
so  they  say,  and  all  in  one  short  year  she  has  suddenly 
thrown  out  a  thousand  new  faculties  and  charms.  Doubt- 
less you  remember  she  Avas  gifted,  but  who  would  have 
thought  she  could  have  blossomed  so !  She  was  all  light 
and  softness  and  air ;  she  is  now  all  fire  and  skill  as  well. 
^Matchless  !  matchless !  Every  day  sees  her  with  some 
new  capacity,  some  fresh  and  delicate  aplomb.  She  has 
set  the  town  admiring,  and  jealous  mothers  prophesy  trist 
ending  for  her.  Her  swift  masterv  of  the  social  arts  is 
weird,  they  say.    La !  la !     The  social  arts !    A  good  braiu, 


♦•TIIK   POIN'T    KNVFA'OMRD  TOO!" 


m 


liiive 
light 
well. 


some 

)e  luis 

trist 

irts  is 

(braiu, 


a  <]fift  of  ponotnitioti,  a  manner — wliich  is  a  grand  noooa- 
sity,  and  it  must  bu  with  birtii — and  no  h»'art  to  s[)t'ai\  of, 
and  the  rest  is  easy.  Xo  licart — there  is  tije  thitig  ;  uiili 
a  irood  braiji  and  senvSes  all  warm  >vith  life — to  fed,  hut 
never  to  have  the  arrow  strike  home.  Von  must  never 
thiidv  to  love  and  be  loved,  and  be  wise  too.  'i'he  emo- 
tions blind  the  judgment.  He  heartless,  be  perfeet  with 
heavenlv  iutilice,  and,  if  you  are  a  woman,  have  no  viti'icd 
on  your  tongue — aiul  you  mav  rule  at  Versailles  or  (Quebec. 
But  with  this  dilTerenee:  in  Quebec  you  nmy  be  virtuous; 
at  Versailles  you  must  not.  It  is  a  i)ity  that  you  nuiy  not 
meet  Mademoiselle  Duvarney.  She  would  astound  you. 
She  was  a  simple  ballad  a  year  ago;  to-morrow  she  nuiy 
be  an  epic." 

He  nodded  at  me  reflectively,  ami  went  on  : 
"'Mademoiselle,'  said  the  Chevalier  de  la  Daranto  to 
her  at  dinner,  some  weeks  ago,  '  if  I  were  young,  I  slujuld 
adore  vou.'  '  ^fonsieur,'  she  rnswereil, '  you  use  ihat  "  if " 
to  shirk  the  responsibility.'  Tiuit  put  him  on  his  mettle. 
'Then,  by  the  gods,  I  adore  you  now  I'  ho  answered.  '  If 
I  were  young,  1  should  blush  to  hear  you  say  so,'  was  her 
reply.  'I  empty  out  my  heart,  and  away  tri{)s  the  dis- 
dainful nymph  with  a  laugh,'  he  rejoined  gaily,  the  rusty 
old  courtier;  'there's  nothing  left  but  to  full  u})on  my 
sword!'  'Disdainful  nym})hs  are  the  better  scabbards 
for  distinguished  swords,'  she  said,  with  charming  cour- 
tesy, 'i'hen,  laughing  softly,  'There  is  an  Egyptian 
proverb  which  runs  thus:  "If  thou,  Dol,  son  of  Hoshti, 
hast  eni})tied  out  thy  heart,  and  it  bring  no  fruit  in  ex- 
change, curse  not  thy  gods  and  die,  but  build  a  pynimid 
in  tiie  vineyard  where  thy  love  was  spent,  and  write  npori 
it,  Pride  liath  no  conqueror^  '  It  is  a  mind  for  a  palace, 
is  it  not?" 

I  could  see  in  the  mirror  facing  him  the  provoking 
devilry  of  his  eyes.     I  knew  that  he  was  trying  how  much 


IHJ 


Tin-:  SI-: ATS  or  tiik  MKnirv. 


ho  could  stir  uw.  lie  ^nicsscd  my  love  for  licr,  but  I 
coiiltl  sec  III'  WHS  sure  tliiit  she  no  lon<^c'r — if  slic  ever  liiul 
— tlioii;,Hit  of  nio.  Besides,  with  u  lover's  uiiderstaiidiii;;, 
I  siiw  also  tliiit  he  liked  to  talk  of  her.  His  eves,  in  tlio 
mirror,  did  not  meet  mine,  hut  wen;  iixed,  jis  on  sorno 
distant  and  pleasinu^  pros{)ect,  thou<,di  there  was,  as  al- 
wavs,  a  sli'dit  disdain  ul  liis  mouth,  liut  tlu^  eves  wero 
cleai",  resolute,  and  stron.ij;',  never  waverin.L,' — aiul  1  nevi'r 
saw  tliem  waver — yet  in  them  somethini,^  distant  and  in- 
scrutable. It  was  u  candid  eye,  and  he  was  candid  in  his 
evil;  he  made  no  ])retenco ;  and  though  the  means  to  his 
ends  were  wicked,  they  were  never  low.  I'resently,  glanc- 
ing round  the  room,  1  saw  an  easel  on  which  was  a  can- 
vas.    He  oiught  my  glance. 

"Silly  work  for  a  soldier  and  a  gentleman,"  he  said, 
"  but  silliness  is  a  great  privilege.  It  needs  as  much  skill 
to  carry  folly  well  as  to  be  an  ambassador.  Kow,  you  are 
often  much  too  serious,  C'a})tain  Moray." 

At  that  he  rose,  and,  after  putting  on  his  coat,  came 
over  to  the  easel  and  threw  up  the  cloth,  exposing  a  por- 
trait of  Alixe !  It  had  been  painted  in  by  a  few  bold 
strokes,  full  of  force  and  life,  yet  giving  her  face  more 
of  that  look  which  comes  to  women  bitterly  wise  in  the 
ways  of  this  world  than  I  eared  to  see.  The  treatment 
was  daring,  nnd  it  cut  mo  like  a  knife  that  the  whole 
jiiiinting  had  a  red  glow:  the  dress  was  red,  the  light 
falling  on  the  hair  was  red,  the  shine  of  the  eyes  was 
red  also.  It  was  fascinating,  but  weird,  and,  to  me,  dis- 
tressful. There  Hashed  through  my  mind  the  remem- 
brance of  Mathilde  in  her  scarlet  robe  as  she  stood  on 
the  Heights  that  momentous  night  of  my  arrest.  I  looked 
at  the  picture  in  silence,  lie  kept  gazing  at  it  with  a 
curious,  half-({uizzical  smile,  as  if  he  were  nnconscious 
of  my  presence.  At  last  he  said,  with  a  slight  knitting 
of  his  brows : 


"THE   roiXT   ENVKXOMKI)  TOO!" 


\{l\ 


\s  was 
),  dis- 
tmem- 

)cl  on 
looked 

'ith  II 
Iscioua 

litting 


"It  ia  stninpfc — stninc^o.  I  sketched  that  in  two  nifj^hts 
n2^o,  ]>y  the  li.L^lit  of  the  lire,  after  1  iiad  come  from  the 
Chateau  St.  liOiiis — from  nit'iiKH'v,  as  vuii  sec.  It  never 
struck  me  where  ti»o  efTect  was  taken  from,  tiiat  siiiiridar 
^dow  over  all  the  face  and  llj^^uiv.  Hut  now  I  set-  it;  it 
returns:  it  is  the  impression  <tf  colour  in  the  senses,  left 
from  the  ni^lit  that  lady-hu;^  Mathilde  Hashed  out.  on  the 
Heights!  Aline — a  line  etVcct !  ll'm!  for  anotlier  such 
one  nnght  give  another  such  Mathiltle  I  " 

At  that  moment  we  wei'e  both  start le(l  hy  a  sound  l)e- 
hind  us,  and,  wheeling,  \\'{>  saw  N'ohan,  a  look  (d"  lage  in 
his  face,  in  the  act  of  tlirowing  at  Doltaire  a  short  spear 
which  he  luid  caught  up  from  a  corner.  The  spear  Hew 
from  Ins  liand  even  as  Doltaire  sprang  asi<le,  di'awing  iiis 
sword  witli  great  swiftness.  I  thought  lie  must  have  l)een 
killed,  but  tiie  rapidity  of  Ids  action  saved  him,  for  the 
s])ear  passed  his  shoulder  so  close  that  it  tore  away  a  shred 
of  his  coat  and  stuck  in  the  wall  behind  him.  In  another 
instant  Doltaire  had  his  sword-jioint  at  \'oban\s  throat, 
^riie  man  did  not  cringe,  did  not  speak  a  woi'd,  but  his 
liandii  clinched  and  the  mus(des  of  his  fa(;e  woi'kcd  pain- 
fully. At  tirst  there  was  a  fury  in  Doltaire's  face  and  a 
metallic  hardness  in  his  eyes,  and  1  was  sure  he  nu-ant  to 
pass  his  sword  through  the  other's  body;  but  afti'r  stand- 
ing for  a  moment,  death  hanging  on  his  sword-point,  he 
quietly  lowered  his  wea])on,  ami,  sitting  on  a  chair-arm, 
looked  curiously  at  Voban,  as  one  might  sit  and  watch  a 


nuid  aninnd  within  a  cage 


\'oban  did  not  stir,  but  stood 


rooted  to  the  spot,  his  eyes  never  moving  from  Doltaire. 
It  was  clear  that  he  had  looked  for  death,  and  now  ex- 
pected ])unishment  and  prison.  Doltaire  took  out  his 
liandkerchief  and  wiped  a  sweat  from  his  cheeks,  lie 
11  turned  to  me  soon,  and  said,  in  a  singularly  impersonal 

way,  as  though  he  were  s})eaking  of  some  animal : 

"He  hud  great  ])rovocation.     The  Duchess  de  Valois 


144 


THE  SEATS   OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


had  a  young  panther  once  which  she  liiid  hrought  up 
from  tlie  milk.  Slic  was  inquisitive,  and  used  to  try  its 
tcunper.  ft  was  i^ood  sport,  but  one  day  she  took  away 
its  food,  gave  it  to  tlie  cat,  and  pointed  lier  linger  at 
monsicHir  tlie  panther.  The  J)uchess  de  \'alois  never 
bared  her  breast  thereafter  to  an  admiring  world — a  pan- 
ther's claws  leave  scars."  He  paused,  and  presently  con- 
tinued :  "  You  remember  it,  Voban  ;  you  were  the  l^uke's 
valet  then — you  see  I  recall  you  !  Well,  the  panth  ^r  lost 
his  head,  both  llguratively  and  in  fact.  The  panther  did 
not  moan  to  kill,  maybe,  but  to  kill  the  lady's  beauty  was 
death  to  her.  .  .  .  Voban,  yonder  spear  was  poisoned  !" 

lie  sviped  his  face,  and  said  to  me,  "  I  think  you  saw 
that  at  the  dangerous  moment  I  had  no  fear;  yet  now 
when  the  game  is  in  my  own  hands  my  cheek  runs  with 
cold  sweat.  How  easy  to  be  charged  with  cowardice! 
Like  evaporation,  the  hot  breath  of  peril  passing  sud- 
denly into  thd  cold  air  of  safety  leaves  this  !  " — he  wiped 
his  cheek  ag:::ii. 

lie  rose,  moved  dowly  to  Voban,  and,  pricking  him 
with  his  sword,  said,  "  You  are  a  bungler,  barber.  Xow 
listen.  I  never  wronged  you  ;  I  have  only  been  your  blis- 
ter. I  prick  your  sores  at  homo.  Tut !  tut !  they  jirick 
them  openly  in  the  market-place.  I  gave  you  life  a  min- 
ute ago;  I  give  you  freedom  now.  Some  day  I  may  ask 
that  life  for  a  day's  use,  and  then,  Voban,  then  will  you 
give  it '? " 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and  the  barber  an- 
swered, "  M'sieu',  1  owe  you  nothing.  I  would  have 
killed  yon  then ;  you  may  kill  me,  if  you  will." 

Doltaire  nodded  musingly.  Something  was  passing 
through  his  mind.  I  judged  he  was  thinking  that  here 
was  a  man  who,  as  a  servant,  would  be  invaluable. 

"  Well,  well,  we  can  discuss  the  thing  at  leisure, 
Voban,"  he  said  at  last.     "  Meanwhile  you  may  wait  here 


^        » 


"THE   POINT   ENVENOMED  TOO!" 


145 


gilt  up 
I  trv  its 
ik  away 
uger  at 
s  never 
—a  paii- 
tly  con- 
Ptike's 
h  iv  lost 
her  did 
uty  was 
led  ! " 
you  saw 
ret  now 
lis  with 
t'ardice ! 
ng  sud- 
c  wiped 

112:  him 
Xow 
lur  blis- 
y  prick 

a  min- 
nay  ask 

•ill  you 

)er  an- 
d   have 


passing 
lit  here 


leisure, 
it  here 


till  Captain  Moray  has  breakfasted,  and  then  you  shall  be 
at  his  service;  and  I  would  have  a  word  witli  you,  also." 

Turning  with  a  polite  gesture  to  me,  lie  led  the  way 
into  the  breakfast-room,  and  at  once,  half  famished,  I  was 
seated  at  the  table,  drinking  a  glass  of  good  wine,  and 
busy  with  a  broiled  whitelish  of  delicate  quality.  We 
were  silent  for  a  time,  and  the  bird  in  the  alcove  kept 
singing  as  though  it  were  in  Eden,  while  chiming  in  be- 
tween the  rhythms  there  came  the  silvery  sound  of  sleigh- 
bells  from  the  world  without.  I  was  in  a  sort  of  dream, 
and  I  felt  there  must  be  a  rude  awakening  soon.  After  a 
while,  Doltaire,  who  seemed  thinking  keenly,  ordered  the 
servant  to  take  in  a  glass  of  wine  to  Voban. 

lie  looked  up  at  me  after  a  little,  as  if  he  had  come 
back  from  a  long  distance,  and  said,  "It  is  my  fate  to 
have  as  foes  the  men  I  would  have  as  friends,  and  as 
friends  the  men  I  would  have  as  foes.  The  cause  of 
mv  friends  is  often  bad  ;  the  cause  of  mv  enemies  is  some- 
times  good.  It  is  droll.  I  love  directness,  yet  I  have  ever 
been  the  slave  of  complication.  I  delight  in  following 
my  reason,  yet  I  have  been  of  the  motes  that  stumble  in 
the  sunlight.  I  have  enough  cruelty  in  me,  enough  self- 
ishness and  will,  to  be  a  ruler,  and  yet  I  have  never  held 
an  ofHce  in  my  life.  I  love  true  dijilomacy,  yet  I  have 
been  comrade  to  the  oflicial  liar  and  am  the  captain  of 
intrigue — la  !  la  !  " 

"You  have  never  had  an  enthusiasm,  a  purpose?" 
said  I.  • 

He  laughed,  a  dry,  ironical  laugh.  "  I  have  both  an 
enthusiasm  and  a  purpose,"  he  answered,  "  or  you  would 
by  now  be  snug  in  bed  forever." 

I  knew  what  he  meant,  though  he  could  not  guess  I 
understood.  He  was  referring  to  Alixe  and  the  challenge 
she  had  given  him.  I  did  not  feel  that  I  had  anything  to 
get  by  playing  a  part  of  friendliness,  and  besides,  he  was 


140 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


a  man  to  whom  the  boldest  speaking  was  always  palatable, 
even  when  most  af^ainst  liimself. 

"  I  Jim  sure  neither  would  bear  daylight,"  said  I. 

"  Why,  I  almost  blush  to  say  that  they  are  both  hon- 
est— would  at  this  moment  endure  a  moral  microscope. 
The  experience,  I  confess,  is  new,  and  lias  the  glamour 
of  originality." 

"  It  will  not  stay  honest,"  I  retorted.  "  Honesty  is  a 
new  toy  with  you.  You  will  break  it  on  the  first  rock 
that  shows." 

"  I  wonder,"  he  answered,  "  I  wonder,  .  .  .  and  yet  I 
suppose  you  are  right.  8ome  devilish  incident  will  twist 
things  out  of  gear,  and  then  the  old  Adam  must  impro- 
vise for  safety  and  success.  Yes,  I  suppose  my  one  beau- 
tiful virtue  will  get  a  twist." 

What  he  had  said  showed  me  his  mind  as  in  a  mirror. 
He  had  no  idea  that  I  had  the  key  to  liis  enigmas.  I  felt 
as  had  Voban  in  the  other  room.  I  could  see  that  he  had 
set  his  mind  on  Alixe,  and  that  she  had  roused  in  him 
what  was  perhaps  the  first  honest  passion  of  his  life. 

What  further  talk  we  might  have  had  I  can  not  tell, 
but  while  we  were  smoking  and  drinking  colfee  the  door 
opened  suddenly,  and  the  servant  said  : 

"His  Excellency  the  Marquis  de  Vaudreuil !  " 

Doltaire  got  to  his  feet,  a  look  of  annoyance  crossing 
his  face ;  but  he  courteously  met  the  Governor,  and  placed 
a  chair  for  him.  The  Governor,  however,  said  frostily, 
"  Monsieur  Doltaire,  it  must  seem  difficult  for  Captain 
^lorav  to  know  who  is  Governor  in  Canada,  since  he  has 
so  many  masters.  I  am  not  sure  who  needs  assurance 
most  upon  the  point,  you  or  he.  This  is  the  second  time 
he  has  been  feasted  at  the  Intendance  when  he  should 
have  been  in  prison.  I  came  too  late  that  other  time ; 
now  it  seems  I  am  opportune." 

Doltaire's  reply  was  smooth:  "Your  Excellency  will 


)t  tell, 
door 


•ossnig 
luccd 

ostilv, 
iptain 

le  has 

11  ranee 
time 

should 
time ; 

y  will 


«A  LITTLE   BOAST." 


u: 


pardon  the  liberty.  The  Intondance  was  a  sort  of  half- 
way house  between  the  citadel  and  the  jail." 

"There  is  news  from  France,"  the  (rovernor  said, 
"brought  from  Gaspe.  We  meet  in  council  at  the  Cha- 
teau in  an  hour.  A  guard  is  without  to  take  Captain 
^[orav  to  the  common  jail." 

In  a  moment  more,  after  a  courteous  good-by  from 
Doltaire,  and  a  renuirk  from  the  Governor  to  the  effect 
that  I  had  spoiled  his  night's  sleep  to  no  purpose,  I  was 
soon  on  my  way  to  the  common  jail,  where  arriving,  what 
was  my  pleased  surprise  to  see  Gabord !  lie  had  been 
told  off  to  be  my  especial  guard,  his  services  at  the  citadel 
having  been  deemed  ao  efficient.  He  was  outwardly  surly 
— as  ronsfh  as  he  ever  was  before  the  world,  and,  without 
speaking  a  word  to  me,  he  had  a  soldier  lock  me  in  a  cell. 


XIII. 

"  A    LITTLE    BOAST." 

My  new  abode  was  more  cheerful  than  the  one  I  had 
quitted  in  the  citadel.  It  was  not  large,  but  it  had  a 
window,  well  barred,  through  which  came  the  good  strong 
lijrht  of  the  northern  skv.  A  wooden  bench  for  mv  bed 
stood  in  one  corner,  and,  what  cheered  me  much,  there 
was  a  small  iron  stove.  Apart  from  warmth,  its  fire  would 
be  companionable,  and  to  tend  it  a  means  of  passiug  the 
time.  Almost  the  first  thino:  I  did  was  to  examine  it.  It 
was  round,  and  shaped  like  a  small  bulging  keg  on  end. 
It  hau  a  lid  on  top  and  in  the  side  a  small  door  with  bars 
for  draught,  suggesting  to  me  in  little  the  delight  of  a 
fireplace.  A  small  pipe  carried  away  the  smoke  into  a 
chimney  in  the  wall.  It  seemed  to  me  luxurious,  and 
my  spirits  came  back  apace. 


148 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


There  was  no  fire  }'ct,  and  it  was  bitter  cold,  so  tliat  I 
took  to  walking  up  and  down  to  keep  wariutli  in  me.  I 
was  iU  nourished,  and  I  felt  the  cold  intensely.  But  I 
trotted  up  and  down,  plans  of  eseape  already  running 
through  my  head.  I  was  as  far  off  as  you  can  imagine 
from  that  event  of  the  early  morning  when  1  stood  wait- 
ing, half  frozen,  to  be  shot  by  Lancy's  men. 

After  I  had  been  walking  swiftly  up  and  down  for  an 
hour  or  more,  slapi)ing  my  hands  against  my  sides  to  keep 
them  warm — for  it  was  so  cold  I  ached  and  felt  a  nausea 
— I  was  glad  to  see  Gabord  enter  with  a  soldier  carrvino: 
wood  and  shavings.  I  do  not  think  I  could  much  longer 
have  borne  the  chilling  air — a  dampness,  too,  had  risen 
from  the  iloor,  which  had  been  washed  that  morning — 
for  my  clothes  were  very  light  in  texture  and  much  worn. 
I  had  had  but  the  one  suit  since  I  entered  the  dunjjeon 
in  the  citadel,  for  my  other  suit,  which  was  by  no  means 
smart,  had  been  taken  from  me  when  I  was  imprisoned 
the  year  before.  As  if  many  good  things  had  been  des- 
tined to  come  at  once,  soon  afterwards  another  soldier 
entered  with  a  knapsack,  which  he  laid  down  on  the 
bench.  It  held  my  other  poor  suit  of  clothes,  together 
with  a  rough  set  of  woollens,  a  few  handkerchiefs,  two 
pairs  of  stockings,  and  a  wool  cap  for  night  wear. 

Gabord  did  not  speak  to  me  at  all,  but  roughly  hur- 
ried the  soldier  at  his  task  of  fire-lighting,  and  ordered 
the  other  to  fetch  a  pair  of  stools  and  a  jar  of  water. 
Meanwhile  I  stood  near,  watching,  and  stretched  out  my 
skinny  hands  to  the  grateful  heat  as  soon  as  the  fire 
was  liixhted.  I  had  a  boy's  delight  in  noting  how  the 
draught  pumped  the  fire  into  violence,  shaking  the  stove 
till  it  ]nifPed  and  roared.  I  was  so  filled,  that  moment, 
with  the  domestic  spirit  that  I  thought  a  steaming 
kettle  on  the  little  stove  would  give  me  a  tabby-like  com- 
fort. 


hat  I 

ic.  I 
liut  I 
lining 
uigine 
^vait- 

Cor  an 

a  keep 

nausea 

rrying 

longer 

1  risen 

ning — 

I  worn. 

Lingeon 

I  means 

irisoned 
n  dcs- 
soldier 
on  the 
oretlier 
fs,  two 

|ly  hur- 

)rdered 

water. 

»nt  my 

Ihe  fire 
low  the 
le  stove 
lonient, 
leamiiig 
ke  com- 


•'A   LITTLE   BOAST.' 


149 


"Why  not  a  kettle  on  tlie  hob?"  said  I  gaily  to 
Gabord. 

"  Why  not  a  cat  before  the  lire,  a  bit  of  bacon  on  the 
coals,  a  pot  of  mulled  wine  at  elbow,  and  wenclTs  chin  to 
chuck,  baby-bunibo ! "  said  CJabord  in  a  mocking  voice, 
which  made  the  soldiers  laugh  at  my  expense.  "  And  a 
spinet,  too,  for  ducky  dear,  Scarrat ;  a  piece  of  cake  and 
cherry  wine,  and  a  soul  to  go  to  heaven!  Tonnerre  ! " 
he  added,  with  an  oath,  "  these  English  prisoners  want 
the  world  for  a  sou,  and  they'd  owe  thcic  till  judgment 
dav." 

I  saw  at  once  the  meaning  of  his  words,  for  he  turned 
his  back  on  me,  and,  going  to  the  window,  tried  the  stan- 
chions, seeming  much  concerned  about  them,  and  mutter- 
ing to  himself.  I  drew  from  my  ])ocket  two  gold  pieces, 
and  gave  them  to  the  soldier  Scarrat ;  and  the  other  sol- 
dier coming  in  just  then,  I  did  the  same  with  him;  and 
I  could  see  that  their  respect  for  me  mightily  increased. 
Gabord,  still  muttering,  turned  to  us  again,  and  began  to 
berate  the  soldiers  for  their  laziness.  As  the  two  men 
turned  to  go,  Scarrat,  evidently  feeling  that  something 
was  due  for  the  gold  I  had  given,  said  to  Gabord,  "  Shall 
m'sieu'  have  the  kettle  ?  " 

Gabord  took  a  step  forward  as  if  to  strike  the  soldier, 
but  stopped  short,  blew  out  his  cheeks,  and  laughed  in  a 
loud,  mocking  way. 

"Ay,  ay,  fetch  m'sieu'  the  kettle,  and  fetch  him  llax 
to  spin,  and  a  pinch  of  snulT,  and  hot  llannels  for  his 
stomach,  and  every  night  at  sundown  you  shall  feed  him 
with  pretty  biscuits  soaked  in  milk.  Ah,  go  to  the  devil 
and  fetch  the  kettle,  fool!"  he  added  roughly  again, 
and  quickly  the  place  was  empty  save  for  him  and  my- 
self. 

"  Those  two  fellows  are  to  sit  outside  your  cage  door, 
dickey-bird,  and  two  are  to  march  beneath  your  window 
11 


150 


THE  SEATS   OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


yonder,  so  you  sluill  not  luck  cure  if  you  seek  to  go  abroad. 
TJiose  are  tlie  new  orders." 

"And  you,  (Jubord,"  suid  I,  "are  you  not  to  be  my 
jailer?"  I  said  it  sorrowfully,  I'or  I  hud  a  gemiine  feel- 
ing for  liini,  and  1  could  not  keep  that  from  my  voice. 

When  1  had  spoken  so  feelingly,  he  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment, Hushing  and  })uiling,  as  if  confused  by  the  conij)li- 
ment  in  the  tone,  and  then  he  answered,  ''Tin  to  keep 
you  safe  till  word  comes  from  the  King  what's  to  be  done 
with  you." 

Then  he  suddenly  becume  surlv  nirain,  staiulini]^  with 
legs  apart  and  keys  dangling;  for  Scarrat  entered  with 
the  kettle  and  put  it  on  the  stove.  "  You  will  bring 
blankets  for  m'sieu',"  he  added,  "  and  there's  an  order 
on  my  table  for  tob..  co,  which  you  will  send  your  com- 
rade for." 

In  a  moment  we  were  left  .'done. 

"  You'll  live  like  a  stuiled  i)ig  here,"  he  said,  "  though 
'twill  be  cold  o'  nights." 

After  another  pass  or  two  of  words  he  left  me,  aiul  I 
hastened  to  make  a  better  toilet  than  I  had  done  for  a 
year.  My  old  rusty  suit  which  I  exchanged  for  tiie  one  I 
liad  worn  seemed  almost  sumptuous,  and  the  woollen  wear 
comforted  my  weakened  body.  \\'ithin  an  hour  my  cell 
looked  snug,  and  I  sat  cosily  by  the  lire,  feeding  it  lazily. 

It  must  have  been  about  four  o'clock  when  there  was 
a  turning  of  keys  and  a  shooting  of  bolts,  the  door  opened, 
and  who  should  step  inside  but  Gabord,  followed  by  Alixe  ! 
I  saw  Alixe's  li])s  frame  my  name  thrice,  though  no  word 
came  forth,  aiul  my  heart  was  bursting  to  cry  out  and  clasp 
her  to  my  breast.  But  still,  with  a  sweet,  serious  look  cast 
on  me,  she  put  out  her  hand  aiul  stayec  me. 

(liabord,  looking  not  at  us  at  all,  went  straight  to  the 
window,  and,  standing  on  a  stool,  busied  himself  with  the 
stanchions  and  beiran  to  whistle.     I  took  Alixe's  hands 


broad. 

be  my 
0  feel- 
iee. 

•  11  nio- 
;orn))li- 
i)  ki'cp 
>e  done 


g  with 
d  with 
[  bring 
I  order 
r  eoni- 


thongh 


',  nnd  I 

e  for  a 

le  oue  I 

n  wear 

[ny  cell 

|l:izily. 

(re  was 

•pened, 

Alixe! 

lo  word 

d  clasp 

|ok  cast 

to  the 
litli  the 
hands 


"A   LITTLE  BOAST." 


151 


■ 


and  held  them,  and  spoke  her  name  softly,  and  she  smiled 
up  at  me  with  so  perfect  a  grace  tiuit  I  thought  there  never 
was  aught  like  it  in  the  world. 

She  was  the  lirst  to  break  tlie  good  spell.  I  j)laced  a 
seat  for  her,  and  sat  down  bv  her.  She  held  out  her  lin- 
gers  to  the  lire,  and  then,  after  a  moment,  she  told  me  the 
story  of  last  night's  alTair.  First  she  nuide  me  tell  luT 
briefly  of  the  events  of  the  morning,  of  which  she  knew, 
hut  not  fiillv.  This  done,  she  began.  I  will  set  'lown 
her  story  as  a  whole,  and  you  must  understand  as  you 
read  tluvt  it  was  told  as  women  tell  a  storv,  with  all  lit  lie 
graces  and  diversions,  and  those  small  details  with  which 
even  momentous  things  are  enveloped  in  their  eyes,  I 
loved  her  all  the  more  because  of  these,  and  1  saw,  as 
Doltaive  had  said,  how  admirably  poised  was  her  intel- 
lect, how  acute  her  wit,  how  delicate  and  astute  a  di- 
plomatist she  was  becoming;  and  yet,  through  all,  pre- 
serving a  simplicity  of  character  almost  impossible  of  be- 
lief. Such  qualities,  in  her  directed  to  good  ends,  in  lesser 
women  have  mostly  made  them  infamous.  Once  that  day 
Alixe  said  to  me,  breaking  off  as  her  story  went  on,  ''  Oh, 
Kobert,  when  I  see  what  power  I  have  to  dissimidate — 
for  it  is  that,  call  it  by  what  name  you  Avill — when  I 
see  how  I  enjoy  accom{)lishing  against  all  ditliculty,  how 
I  can  blind  even  so  skilled  a  di})lomatist  as  .Monsieur  Dol- 
taire,  I  almost  tremble.  I  see  how,  if  (Jod  had  not  given 
me  something  here" — she  placed  her  lumd  u])on  her 
heart — "that  saves  me,  I  might  be  like  Madame  ("ournal, 
and  far  worse,  far  worse  than  she.  For  I  love  power — 
I  do  love  it ;  I  can  see  that  I  " 

She  did  not  realize  that  it  was  her  strict  honesty  with 
herself  which  was  her  true  safeguard. 


Here  is  the  story  she  told  .ne : 
"  When   I  left  you  last  night,  I  went  at 
home,  and  was  alad  to  cet  in  without  bein 


once  to  my 
ir  seen.     At 


152 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIUIITY. 


nine  o'clock  wu  \»ire  to  be  at  the  Cliutcaii,  Jind  wliile  my 
sistor  (Jcor<,^ettc  wus  helping  me  with  my  toilette — oli,  how 
I  wished  she  would  i^o  Jiiid  leave  me  quite  alone  ! — my 
liead  was  in  a  whirl,  and  now  and  then  1  could  leel  my 
lieart  draw  and  shake  like  a  liali'-choked  pump,  and  there 
was  a  strange  i)ain  behind  my  eyes.  (Jeorgette  is  of  snch 
a  warm  disposition  so  k'  id  idways  to  mo,  whom  she 
vouLl  yield  l  ■  iu  cv<  '•<*"':i.:4,  :o  sim])lo  in  her  aU'ections, 
that  I  seemed  stan'^in;'  =;  -    ■   bv  her  like  an  intrigante,  as 


one  who  had  got  wisdom  at  th. 


•ieo  ol"  a  good  something 


lost.  ]iut  do  not  think,  Kobert,  that  for  one  instant  I 
was  sorry  I  played  a  i)art,  and  have  done  so  for  a  long  year 
and  more.  1  would  do  it  again,  and  more,  if  it  were  for 
you. 

"  (Jeorgette  could  not  understand  why  it  was  I  stopped 
all  at  once  and  caught  her  head  to  my  breast,  as  she  sat  by 
me  where  I  stood  arranging  my  g  jwn.  1  do  not  kiiow  quite 
why  I  did  it,  but  perliaps  it  was  from  my  yearning  that 
never  should  she  have  a,  lover  in  sui  .  sorrow  and  danger  as 
mine,  and  that  never  should  she  have  to  learn  to  mask  her 
heart  as  I  have  done.  Ah,  sometimes  I  fear,  Robert,  that 
when  all  is  over,  and  vou  are  free,  and  von  see  what  the 
world  and  all  this  playing  at  hide-and-seek  have  made  me, 
you  will  feel  that  such  as  (Jeorgette,  who  have  never  looked 
inside  the  hearts  of  wicked  people,  and  read  the  tales 
therein  for  knowledge  to  defeat  wickedness — that  such  as 
she  w^-re  better  fitted  for  your  life  and  love.  Xo,  no, 
please  do  not  take  my  hand — not  till  you  have  heard  all  I 
am  going  to  tell." 

She  continued  quietly;  yet  her  eye  flashed,  and  now 
and  then  something  in  her  thoughts  as  to  how  she,  a 
weak,  powerless  girl,  had  got  her  ends  against  astute  evil 
men,  sent  a  little  laugh  to  her  lips;  for  she  had  by  nature 
as  merry  a  heart  as  serious. 

"  At  nine  o'clock  we  came  to  the  Chateau  St.  Louis 


"A   LITTLE   BOAST." 


ir)3 


^'liile  my 
-oil,  how 
le  ! — my 
li'ol  my 
11(1  there 
i  of  sucli 
loni  she 
Tc'ctions, 
L,^unte,  us 
nietliing 
iistant  I 
oil''  vear 
svore  for 


stopped 

lie  sat  hy 

ow  quite 

'u\(f  that 

lanL,'er  as 

luisk  her 

ert,  tliat 

kvhat  the 

iiade  mo, 

r  looked 

he  tales 

such  as 

^'o,  no, 

ard  all  I 

nd  now 
V  she,  a 
tute  evil 
y  nature 

it.  Louis 


from  8tc.  Anne  Street,  where  our  winter  home  is — yet 
liow  much  do  I  prefer  Mie  Nfanor  House!  'I'liere  wcie 
but  !W  guests  to  supper,  and  .\L)iisieur  Doltaire  was  not 
ainong  them.  I  alTected  a  genial  iirprise,  and  asked  the 
Gov'.rnoi  f  oi;e  of  the  two  va'':n\t  cliairs  at  the  tal)le  was 
for  monsieur;  and  lo(/i<ii:g  a  little  as  though  he  would 
reprove  n.o — for  he  does  not  lik(^  to  think  of  me  as  inti-r- 
ested  in  monsieur — he  said  ir  was,  but  that  monsieur  was 
somewhere  out  of  town,  and  tiiere  was  no  surety  that  he 
would  come.  The  other  chair  was  for  the  Chevalier  de 
la  Darante,  one  of  the  oldest  and  best  of  our  nobility,  wli 
pretends  great  roughness  and  barbarism,  but  is  a  kind  a.  < 
honourable  irentleman,  thoui^h  odd.  He  was  one  of  v<.  i. 
judges,  Robert;  and  though  ho  condemned  you,  he  saiv' 
that  you  had  some  reason  on  your  side.  I  will  show  "ou 
hovv  he  stood  for  you  last  night. 

"I  need  not  tell  you  how  the  supper  passed,  while  I 
was  planning — planning  to  reach  the  (lovernor  if  mon- 
sieur did  not  come;  and  if  he  did  come,  how  to  ])lay  my 
part  so  he  should  suspect  nothing  but  a  vain  girFs  ca- 
price, and  maybe  heartlessness.  ]\L3ment  after  moment 
went  by,  and  ho  came  not.  I  almost  despaired.  Pres- 
ently the  Chevalier  de  la  Darante  entered,  and  ho  took 
the  vacant  chair  beside  mo.  I  was  glad  of  this.  I  had 
gone  in  npon  the  arm  of  a  rusty  gentleman  of  the  (jourt, 
who  is  over  hero  to  get  his  health  aixiiin,  and  does  so  bv 
gaming  and  drinking  at  the  Chateau  liigot.  The  Cheva- 
lier began  at  once  to  talk  to  mo,  and  he  s})oke  of  you,  say- 
ing that  lie  had  heard  of  vour  duel  with  mv  brother,  and 
that  formerly  you  had  been  much  a  guest  at  our  house. 
I  answered  him  with  what  carefulness  I  could,  and  brought 
round  the  question  of  your  death,  l)y  hint  and  allusiun 
getting  him  to  speak  of  the  mode  of  execution. 

"Upon  this  point  he  spoke  his  mind  strongly,  saying 
that  it  was  a  case  where  the  penalty  should  be  the   mus- 


154 


TllK  SKATS  OF  TIIK   MKJHTV. 


kct,  not  tlio  rope.  It  was  no  siihjcot  for  tlio  sii])p(M'  t.iblo, 
jiMil  the  (Jovcriior  felt  tliis,  juid  I  fciired  ho  would  sliow 
(lisph'asurc!;  hut  otiior  gcutU.'nu'U  took  u[)  tlu'  nuittcr, 
and  lu!  oouhl  not  easily  cliango  tlu^  talk  at  the  tnonicnt. 
Tlic  fcclinir  was  stron-^  a'Minst  you.  Mv  fatJicr  stavt'<l 
silent,  hut  1  could  see  he  watched  the  olTetit  upon  the 
Governor.  I  knew  that  he  himself  liad  tried  to  have  the 
mode  of  execution  ehan^^ed,  hut  the  (Jovernor  had  been 
innnovahle.  The  Chevalier  spoke  most  strongly,  for  ]»e  is 
afraid  of  no  one,  and  he  gave  tlu;  other  gentlemen  raps 
ui)on  the  knuckles. 

" '  1  swear,'  he  said  at  hist,  '  I  am  sorry  now  I  gave 
in  to  Ins  death  at  "'1,  for  it  seems  to  me  that  there  is 
much  (iruelty  and  hatred  behiiul  the  case  against  him. 
He  se(>med  to  me  a  gentleman  of  force  and  fearlessness, 
and  what  he  said  had  weight.  Why  was  the  gentleman 
not  exchanijed  long  ago?  lie  was  here  three  years  before 
he  was  tried  on  this  charge.  Ay,  there's  the  point ! 
Other  prisoners  were  exchanged — why  not  he?  If  the 
gentleman  is  not  given  a  decent  deatii,  after  tliese  years  of 
ciiptivity,  I  swear  I  will  not  leave  Kamaraska  again  to  set 
foot  in  Quebec' 

"At  that  the  Governor  gravely  said,  '  These  are  mat- 
ters for  our  Council,  dear  Chevalier.'  To  this  the  Cheva- 
lier replied,  '  I  meant  no  rellection  on  your  Excellency, 
but  you  are  good  enough  to  let  the  opiidons  of  gentlemen 
not  so  wise  as  you  weigh  with  you  in  your  eiforts  to  be 
just;  and  I  have  ever  held  that  one  wise  autocrat  was 
worth  a  score  of  juries.'  There  was  an  instant's  pause, 
and  then  my  father  said  quietly,  '  If  his  Excellency  had 
always  councillors  and  colleagues  like  the  Chevalier  de  la 
Darante,  his  path  would  be  easier,  and  Canada  happier 
and  richer.'  This  settled  the  matter,  for  the  Governor, 
looking  at  them  both  for  a  moment,  suddeidy  said,  '  Gen- 
tlemen, you  shall  have  your  ^^ay,  and  1  thank  you  for  your 


••A  urn  A-:  hoast." 


155 


or  t;il)l(', 

lid  show 

niatUT, 

iKMiicnt. 

.'    St{l}t'(l 

poll  the 
UIVC3  tlie 
ad  bt'on 
for  lu!  is 
11' II  nips 

I   j^iive 

tlicre  is 

st   liiiii. 

lossMcss, 

itlemaii 

s  before 

])oint ! 

If   the 

ears  of 

1  to  set 

•0  mat- 

Clieva- 

lleiipy, 

leinen 

;s  to  be 

•at  was 

pause, 

oy  had 

r  de  la 

iap})ier 

rem  or, 

r,eii- 

r  your 


I 


coiifidenee. — If  the  ladies  will  pardon  a  sort  of  comicil  of 
state  here  I '  he  added.  The  (iovernor  called  a  servant, 
and  ordered  pen,  iidv,  and  paper;  and  there  hefitre  us  all 
he  wrote  an  order  to  (labord,  your  jailer,  to  be  di-livered 
before  nndni;,dit. 

"  He  had  b(\i,nin  to  read  it  al'»ud  to  us,  when  the  cur- 
tains of  the  enti'ance-door  parted,  and  Monsieur  Doltaii'e 
stepped  inside.  The  (Jovernor  did  not  hear  him,  un«l 
monsieur  stood  for  a  moment  listi'iiini  When  the  read- 
ing was  linished  he  ^ave  a  dry  little  lau_uh,  ami  came  down 
to  the  (Jovermu-,  apologizing  for  his  lateJU'ss,  and  bowing 
to  the  rest  of  us.  He  did  not  look  at  nu'  at  all,  l)Ul  once 
he  glanced  keeidv  at  mv  father,  and  1  felt  sure  that  he 
had  heard  my  father's  woi'ds  to  the  (Jovernor. 

"Mlave  the  ladies  ln'cn  made  councillors ?'  he  asked 
lightly,  and  took  his  seat,  which  was  op[)osite  to  mine. 
'  Have  they  all  conspii'ed  to  give  u  criminal  ojie  less  epi- 
sode in  his  life  for  which  to  blush?  .  .  .  Mav  I  not  ioin 
the  conspiracy  V'  he  added,  glancing  round,  and  lifting  a 
glass  of  wine.  Not  even  yet  had  he  looked  at  me.  Then 
he  waved  his  glass  the  circuit  of  the  table  and  said,  ^  1 
drink  to  the  councUlors  and  aj)[)laud  the  conspirators,' 
and  as  he  raised  his  glass  to  his  lips  his  eyes  came  abrtiptly 
to  mine  and  stayed,  and  he  bowed  profoumlly  and  with  an 
air  of  suggestion.  He  drank,  still  looking,  and  then 
turned  again  to  the  (Jovernor.  I  felt  my  heart  stand 
still.  Did  he  suspect  my  love  foi-  you,  Robert?  Had 
he  discovered  something?  Was  (Jabord  a  traitor  to  us? 
Had  I  been  watched,  detected  ?  1  could  have  shrieked  at 
the  susjtense.  I  was  like  one  suddenly  faced  with  a 
dreadful  accusation,  with  which  was  u  great  fear,  liut  1 
held  myself  still — oh,  so  still,  so  still  ! — and  as  in  a  dream 
I  lieard  the  (Iovernor  say  pleasantly,  '  I  would  I  had  such 
conspirators  always  1)y  me.  I  am  sure  you  would  wish 
them  to  take  more  responsibility  than  you  will  now  as- 


15G 


THE  SKATS  OF  TIIK  MIGHTY. 


sumo  in  (.'iiniida.'  Doltairo  bowed  uiid  smiled,  iiiid  tho 
(loviTiior  went  on:  'I  lun  sure  you  will  approve  of  Cap- 
tain Moray  l)ein<j^  shot  instejid  of  lian<j:ed.  Hut  iiuleed  it 
luis  been  my  ^nxul  frii'ud  the  Chevalier  here  who  has 
given  uw.  tho  best  council  I  have  held  in  many  a  day.' 

*''!'<)  this  ^Toiisieur  Doltaire  replied:  'A  council  un- 
known to  statute,  but  ap])roved  of  those  who  stand  for 
eti(piette  with  one's  foes  at  any  cost.  For  myself,  it  is 
so  unpleasant  to  think  of  the  rope'  "  (here  Alixe  hid  lier 
face  in  her  hands  for  a  moment)  "'that  I  should  eat  no 
breakfast  to-morrow  if  the  gentleman  from  Virginia  were 
to  hang.'  It  was  impossible  to  tell  from  his  tone  what 
was  in  his  mind,  and  I  dared  not  think  of  his  failure  to 
interfere  as  he  had  j)roiuised  me.  As  yet  he  had  done 
nothing,  I  could  see,  and  in  eight  or  nine  hours  more  you 
were  to  die.  He  did  not  look  at  me  again  for  some  time, 
but  talked  to  my  mother  and  my  father  and  the  Cheva- 
lier, coru!nenting  on  affairs  in  France  and  the  war  be- 
tween our  countries,  but  saying  nothing  of  where  he  had 
been  during  the  past  week,  lie  seenunl  paler  and  thinner 
than  when  1  last  saw  him,  aiul  I  felt  that  something  had 
lia])})ened  to  him.     You  shall  hear  soon  what  it  was. 

*' A^.  last  he  turned  from  the  Chevalier  to  mo,  and  said, 
MVhen  did  yon  hear  from  your  brother,  mademoiselle?' 
I  told  him  ;  and  he  added,  '  1  have  hjul  a  letter  since,  and 
after  supper,  if  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  tell  you  of  it.' 
'^rurning  to  my  father  and  my  mother,  he  assured  them 
of  Juste's  well-being,  and  afterwards  engaged  in  talk  with 
the  Governor,  to  whom  he  seemed  to  defer.  When  we  all 
rose  to  go  to  the  salon,  he  oifered  my  mother  his  arm, 
and  I  went  in  upon  the  arm  of  the  good  Chevalier.  A 
few  moments  afterwards  he  came  to  me,  and  remarked 
cheerfully,  '  in  this  farther  corner,  where  the  spinet 
sounds  most,  we  can  talk  best' ;  and  we  went  near  to  the 
spinet,  where  Madame  Lotbiniere  was  playing.     '  It  is 


11(1    tlio 
(U'ud  it 

iio    llilS 

c'il  un- 

111(1  for 

If,  it  is 

lid  her 

cut  no 

ia  were 

10  what 

hire  to 

(1  (h)no 

ore  you 

10  time, 

Ciiova- 

Viir  bc- 

ho  hud 

liiiinor 

ig  hud 

s. 

d  said, 

iscUo  V ' 

CO,  and 

of  it.' 

thorn 

k  witli 

wo  all 

s  arm, 

r.     A 

larked 

spinet 

to  the 

'It  is 


"A   LITTLE   noAST; 


l.V 


triio,'  ho  began,  '  that  1  have  had  a  letter  from  your 
brotluM*.  IIu  begH  mo  to  use  intliioueo  for  his  advanoo- 
inont.  Vou  800,  lie  writes  to  mo  instead  of  to  ibciJov- 
ernor.  You  can  guess  iiow  I  sti'nd  in  I*' ranee.  \\ Cll,  wo 
fiball  soo  what  1  may  do.  .  .  .  Have  you  not  woiKh-red 
coiu!orning  mo  tliiswookV  luMisked.  1  said  to  him,  '  I 
8(;arce  expected  you  till  after  to-morrow,  wlicn  you  wouhl 
j)U'a(l  SOUK!  accident  as  cause  for  not  rullilling  your  pretty 
little  boast.'  Ho  looked  at  mo  sluirply  for  a  minute  and 
tiieii  said:  'A  i)retty  (if  fir  boast,  is  it?  ll'm  !  you  toucii 
great  tilings  with  light  lingers.'  I  nodded.  '  Yes,'  said  I, 
'  when  1  have  no  great  faith.'  '  ^'oii  liave  marvellous  (!()ld- 
noss  for  a  gir'  that  promised  warmth  in  her  youth,'  ho 
answered.  '  Kvcn  1,  who  am  old  in  thest^  matters,  cm 
not  think  of  this  Moray's  death  without  a  twinge,  for  it 
is  not  like  an  alTair  of  battle;  but  you  seem  to  think  of  it 
in  its  relation  to  my  "little  boast,"  us  you  call  it.  Is  it 
not  so  ? ' 

'"No,  .10,'  said  I,  with  apparent  indignation,  'you 
must  not  make  mo  out  so  cruel.  I  am  not  so  hard-hearted 
as  vou  think.  Mv  brother  is  well — I  have  no  fooling 
against  Captain  "Moray  on  his  account;  and  as  for  spying 
— well,  it  is  only  a  painful  epithet  for  what  is  done  hero 
and  ovorywliere  all  the  time.'  '  Dear  me,  dear  me,'  ho 
rom.'irked  lightly, '  what  a  mind  you  have  for  argument  !  — 
a  born  casuist;  iwl  yet,  like  all  women,  you  would  lot 
your  sympathy  ruk  vou  in  m-ittors  of  state.  But  come,' 
he  added,  'where  do  you  think  I  have  been?'  It  was 
hard  to  answer  him  gaily,  and  yet  it  must  bo  done,  and  so 
I  said,  '  You  have  probably  put  yourself  in  prison,  that 
vou  sliould  not  keen  vour  tinv  boast.'  '  I  have  been  in 
prison,'  ho  answered,  'and  I  was  on  the  wrong  side,  with 
no  kev — even  locked  in  a  cliost-room  of  the  Inteiidance,"' 
he  explained,  '  but  as  yet  I  do  not  know  by  whom,  nor  am 
I  sure  why.    After  two  days  without  food  or  drink  I  man- 


158 


THE  SEATS   OF  THE   .MICHTY. 


aged  to  got  out  tlirongli  tlie  barred  window.  I  spent 
three  days  in  my  own  room,  ill,  and  here  I  am.  You 
must  not  speak  of  this — you  will  not?'  ho  asked  mo. 
'To  no  one,'  1  answered  miilv,  'but  mv  otlier  self.' 
'Where  is  your  other  self'?'  he  asked.  'In  here,' said  I, 
touching  my  bosom.  I  did  not  mean  to  turn  my  head 
away  when  1  said  it,  but  indeed  I  felt  I  could  not  look 
him  in  the  eves  at  the  moment,  for  I  was  thinkinir  of  you. 

"  He  mistook  me ;  he  thought  I  was  coquetting  with 
him,  an.d  he  leaned  forward  to  speak  in  my  ear,  so  that 
I  could  feel  Ins  breath  on  my  cheek.  I  turned  faint,  for 
I  saw  how  terrible  was  this  game  I  was  playing;  but  oh, 
liobert,  Robert " — her  hands  lluttered  towards  me,  then 
drew  back — "  it  was  for  your  sake,  for  your  s:ike,  that  I 
let  his  hand  rest  on  mine  an  instiint,  as  he  said  :  '  1  shall 
go  hunting  flierc  to  find  your  other  self.  Siiall  I  know 
the  face  if  I  see  it?'  I  drew  my  hand  away,  for  it  was 
torture  to  me,  but  I  only  said,  a  little  scornfully,  '  You 
do  not  stand  by  your  words.  Y'ou  said ' — liere  I  laughed 
disdainfully — 'that  you  would  meet  the  first  test  to  prove 
your  I'ight  to  follow  the  second  boast.' 

"He  got  to  his  feet,  ami  said  in  a  low,  fii'm  voice: 
'  Your  memory  is  excellent,  your  a})lomb  perfect.  You 
are  young  to  know  it  all  so  well.  But  you  bring  your  own 
punishment,'  he  added,  with  a  wicked  smile,  'and  you 
shall  pay  heroiiftor.  I  am  going  to  the  Governor.  Bigot 
has  arrived,  and  is  witli  Madame  Gournal  yonder.  You 
shall  have  proof  in  half  an  hour.' 

"  Then  ho  left  jne.  An  idea  occurred  to  mo.  If  he 
succeeded  in  staying  your  execution,  you  would  in  all  like- 
lihood be  placed  in  the  common  jail.  I  would  try  to  get 
.an  order  from  the  Governor  to  visit  the  jail  to  distribute 
gifts  to  the  prisoners,  as  my  mother  and  T  had  done  be- 
fore on  the  day  before  Christmas.  So,  while  ]\[onsieur 
Doltaire  was  passing  with  Bigot  and  the  Chevalier  de  la 


A   LITTLE   BOAST. 


ir>9 


prove 


You 


to  g(?t 


Daranfo  into  anotluT  room,  I  made  1113'  roquost  of  the 
Governor;  and  that  very  moment,  at  my  wisli,  he  liad  liis 
secretary  write  the  order,  wliich  he  countersigned  and 
handed  me,  with  a  gift  of  gold  for  the  ])risoner.s.  As 
lie  left  my  mother  and  myself,  ^[onsieur  Doltaire  came 
back  with  Bigot,  and,  ap[)roacliing  the  (Jovernrr,  tliey 
led  him  away,  engaging  at  once  in  serious  talk.  One 
thing  I  noticed  :  as  monsienr  and  liigot  canu^  up,  I  con  Id 
see  monsieur  evins:  the  Intendant  askance,  as  though  he 
would  read  treachery;  for  I  feel  sure  tlial  it  was  ]^)igot 
who  contrived  to  have  monsienr  shut  up  in  the  chest- 
room.  I  can  not  cpiite  gness  the  reason,  unless  it  be  true 
what  gossips  say,  that  Bigot  is  jealous  of  the  notice 
Madame  Cournal  has  given  Doltaire,  wiio  visits  mucli  at 
her  house. 

"Well,  they  asked  me  to  sing,  and  so  I  did  ;  and  can 
you  guess  what  it  was?     Even  the  royafjeurs''  song — 

'Brothers,  vre  go  to  tlio  Scarlet  Hills, 
(Little  gold  sun,  come  out  (if  the  dawn  I) ' 

I  know  not  how  T  sang  it,  for  my  heart,  my  thoughts,  were 
far  away  in  a  whirl  of  clouds  and  mist,  as  you  may  see  a 
flock  of  wild  ducks  in  the  haze  upon  a  river,  flying  they 
know  not  whither,  save  that  chey  follow  the  sound  of  the 
stream.  I  was  just  ending  the  song  when  ]\[onsieur  Dol- 
taire leaned  over  me,  and  said  in  my  ear,  '  To-morrow  I 
shall  invite  Caj)tain  Moray  from  the  scalTold  to  my 
breakfast-table — or,  better  still,  invite  myself  to  his  own.' 
His  hand  caught  mine,  as  I  gave  a  little  cry;  for  when  I 
felt  sure  of  your  reprieve,  I  could  not,  Robert,  I  could  not 
keep  it  back,  lie  thought  I  was  startled  at  his  hand- 
pressure,  and  did  not  guess  the  real  cause. 

" '  I  have  met  one  challenge,  aiul  I  shall  meet  the 
other,'  he  said  quickly.  '  It  is  not  so  much  a  nnitter  of 
power,  either  ;  it  is  that  engine  opportunity.     You  and   I 


IGO 


THE  SEATS  OP  THE  MIGHTY. 


should  go  fur  in  tliis  wicked  world,' he  added.  '  We  think 
together,  wo  see  through  ladders.  I  admire  you,  niade- 
nioi-selle.  Some  men  will  say  they  love  you ;  and  they 
should,  or  they  have  no  taste  ;  and  the  more  they  love  you, 
the  hetter  pleased  am  I — if  you  are  hest  i)leased  with  me. 
But  it  is  possible  for  men  to  love  and  not  to  admire.  It 
is  a  foolish  thing  to  say  that  reverence  must  go  with  love. 
I  know  men  who  have  lost  their  heads  and  their  souls  for 
women  whom  they  knew  infamous.  But  when  one  ad- 
mires where  one  loves,  then  in  the  ebb  and  flow  of  passion 
the  heart  is  safe,  for  admiration  holds  when  the  sense  is 
cold.' 

"  You  know  well,  Rohert,  how  clever  he  is ;  how, 
listening  to  him,  you  must  admit  his  talent  and  his  power. 
But  oh,  believe  that,  though  I  am  full  of  wonder  at  his 
cleverness,  I  can  not  bear  him  very  near  me." 

She  paused.  I  looked  most  gravely  at  her,  as  well  one 
might  who  saw  so  sweet  a  maid  employing  her  heart  thus, 
and  the  danger  that  faced  her.  She  misread  my  look  a 
little,  maybe,  for  she  said  at  once  : 

"  I  must  be  honest  with  you,  and  so  I  tell  you  all — all, 
else  the  part  I  play  were  not  possible  to  me.  To  you  I 
can  speak  plainly,  pour  out  my  soul.  Do  not  fear  for  me. 
I  see  a  battle  coming  between  that  man  and  me,  but  I 
shall  fight  it  stoutly,  worthily,  so  that  in  tids,  at  least,  I 
shall  never  have  to  blush  for  you  that  you  loved  me.  Bo 
patient,  Kobert,  and  never  doubt  me ;  for  that  would 
make  me  close  the  doors  of  my  heart,  though  I  should  never 
cease  to  aid  vou,  never  wearv  in  labour  for  your  well- 
being.  If  these  things,  and  fighting  all  these  wicked  men, 
to  make  IMonsienr  Doltaire  help  me  to  save  you,  have 
schooled  to  action  some  worse  parts  of  me,  there  is  yet 
in  me  that  which  shall  never  be  brought  low,  never  be 
dragged  to  the  level  of  Versailles  or  the  Chateau  Bigot 
— never ! " 


«'A   LITTLE   BOAST." 


161 


men, 
liavG 


Slie  looked  at  me  with  siieli  diu^iiity  ami  pride  that  my 
eyes  lined  with  tears,  and,  not  to  ho  stayed,  1  reached  out 
and  took  her  hands,  and  would  have  clasped  her  to  my 
hreast,  hut  she  held  back  from  me. 

"  Vou  believe  in  me,  Hobei't?"  she  said  most  earnestly. 
"You  will  never  doubt  me?  You  know  that  I  am  true 
and  loyal.'" 

"I  believe  in  (}od,  and  in  you,"  I  answered  reverently, 
and  I  took  her  in  my  ai'ms  and  kissed  her.  I  did  not  care 
at  all  wdiether  or  no  (Jabord  saw;  but  indeed  he  did  not, 
as  Alixe  told  me  afterwards,  for,  womaidike,  even  in  this 
sweet  crisis  she  had  an  eye  for  such  detads. 

"  What  more  did  he  savV"  I  asked,  mv  heart  beatinir 
hard  in  the  iov  of  that  embrace. 

"  Xo  more,  or  little  more,  for  mv  mother  came  that 
instant  and  brought  me  to  talk  with  the  Chevalier  de  la 
Darante,  who  wished  to  ask  me  for  next  summer  to  Ka- 
maraska  or  Isle  aux  Coudres,  where  he  has  manorhouscs. 
Before  I  left  Monsieur  Doltaire,  he  said  to  me,  '  I  never 
made  a  promise  but  I  wished  to  break  it.  'IMiis  one  shall 
balance  all  I've  broken,  for  I'll  never  unwish  it.' 

"  y[y  mother  heard  this,  and  so  I  summoricd  all  my 
will,  and  said  irailv,  •  Poor  broken  crockerv  I  You  stand 
a  tower  among  the  ruins.'  This  pleased  him,  and  he  an- 
swered, '  On  the  tower  base  is  written,  'i'liis  crockery  out- 
serves  all  others.'  ^fy  mother  looked  shar]»ly  at  nie,  but 
said  nothinir,  for  she  has  come  to  thiidv  tliat  I  am  heart- 
less and  cold  to  men  and  to  the  world,  sellish  in  many 
things." 

At  this  moment  Giibord  turned  round,  saying,  " 'Tis 
time  to  be  done,     '^iad.ime  (n^mes." 

"It  is  my  mother,"  said  Alixe,  standing  np,  and 
hastily  i)lacing  her  hands  in  mine.  "  I  must  be  gone. 
Good-bye,  good-bye." 

There  was  no  chance  for  further  adieu,  and  1  saw  her 


102 


TIIK  SEATS  OF  THE   MltJlITY. 


puss  out  witli  (Jabord  ;  but  slie  turned  jit  tlic  last,  and  said 
in  English,  I'ur  slio  spoiic  it  i'airly  now,  "  Jielieve  and  re- 
member." 


XIV. 


ARGAND    COLKNAL. 


TiiK  most  measfre  int('lli(?cnce  came  to  me  from  tlie 
outer  world.     I  no  lonu^er  saw  (Jabord  ;  he  had  suddenly 


id  the 


been  witlidi'awn  and  a  new  ,iailer  substituted,  ana  tne  sen- 
tinels outside  my  door  and  beneath  the  window  of  my  cell 
refused  all  information.  Vov  months  I  had  no  news  what- 
ever of  Alixe  or  of  those  afTairs  nearest  my  heart.  I  heard 
nothing  of  Doltaire,  little  of  Bigot,  and  there  was  no  sign 
of  Voban. 

Sometimes  I  could  see  my  new  jailer  studying  mo,  as 
if  my  plans  were  a  puzzle  to  his  brain.  At  first  he  used 
regularly  to  try  tlie  bars  of  the  vrindow,  and  search  the 
wall  as  though  he  thought  niy  devices  might  be  found 
there. 

Scarrat  and  Flavelle,  the  guards  at  my  door,  set  too 
high  a  price  on  their  favours,  and  they  talked  seldom,  and 
then  with  brutal  jests  and  ribaldry  of  matters  in  the  town 
which  were  not  vital  to  me.  Yet  once  or  twice,  from 
things  they  said,  I  ca'ue  to  know  that  all  was  not  well  be- 
tweeu  Bigot  and  iioltaire  on  one  hand,  and  Doltairo  and 
the  Governor  on  the  other.  Doltaire  had  set  the  Governor 
and  the  Intendant  scheming  against  him  becanse  of  his 
adher-  ;u  e  to  <:h.e  cause  of  neither,  and  his  power  to  render 
the  plans  (>f  ;  ithti'  of  no  avail  when  he  chose,  as  in  my 
case.  V;iuih-ei;ii's  vanity  was  'njured,  and,  besides,  ho 
coun!':>'!  nviii-iir.,  ioo  Mvoiig  a  friend  of  ]^)ig(»t.  Bigot,  1 
doubted  •  'iL,  t'ound  in  ^[adaii.e  Gournars  liking 'for  Dol- 
tairo all   ser  s  of  things  of  wducli  he  never  would  have 


V 

tJ 

S(| 

c;l 
( 


AUG  AN  I)   COURXAI.. 


1G3 


iiid 
11  or 
his 
ler 
my 
]io 

t,  1 

iol- 

ive 


dreamed  ;  for  tlier(>  Is  !io  siicli  potent  devilry  in  this  world 
lis  the  jealousy  of  siu-li  a  sort  of  man  over  a  woman  whoso 
vanity  and  cu2)idity  arc  tiiu  sprin^^s  of  her  alTeetions.  Dol- 
taire's  imprisonment  in  a  room  of  the  Intendanee  was  not 
so  mysterious  as  suggestive.  I  foresaw  a  strife,  a  compli- 
cation of  intrigues,  and  internal  enmities  which  would  he 
(as  they  were)  the  ruin  of  New  !•' ranee.  1  saw,  in  inuigiua- 
tion,  the  English  army  at  the  gates  of  (^uelxM',  and  those 
who  sat  in  the  seats  of  the  miifhtv,  sworn  to  ])ersonal  en- 
mities — X'audreiiil  through  vanity,  iiigot  through  cupid- 
ity, Doltaire  by  the  innate  ma.li(,'e<)f  his  nature — saerilicing 
the  countrv  ;  tin;  scarlet  l)odv  of  British  i)ower  movinu: 
down  npon  a  dishonoured  city,  never  to  take  its  foot  from 
that  sword  of  France  which  fell  there  on  the  soil  of  the 
New  World. 

But  there  was  another  factor  in  the  situation  on  wliich 
I  have  not  before  dwelt.  Over  a  year  earlier,  when  war 
was  being  carried  into  Prussia  by  Austria  and  France,  and 
against  England,  the  ally  of  Prussia,  the  F'rench  ^linister 
of  War,  D'Argenson,  had^  by  the  grace  of  La  Pompadour, 
sent  General  the  ]\[arquis  de  ^lontcalm  to  ('anada,  to  pro- 
tect the  colony  with  a  snudl  army.  F'rom  the  first,  Mont 
calm,  fiery,  impetuous,  and  honourable,  was  at  varian- 
with  Vaudrenil,  who,  though  honest  himself,  had  m  r 
dared  to  make  open  stand  against  Bigot.  When  ^fo'-t- 
calm  came,  practically  taking  the  military  command  nit 
of  the  hands  of  the  (lovernor,  Vaudreuil  developed  a  si  mil- 
iar jealous  spirit  against  the  (Jeneral.  It  began  to  express 
itself  about  the  time  \  was  thrown  into  the  citadel  dun- 
geon, and  I  knew  from  what  Alixe  had  told  me,  and  from 
the  gossip  of  the  soldiers  that  tiiere  was  a  more  open  show 
of  disagreement  now. 

The  Governor,  seeing  how  ill  it  was  to  he  at  variance 
with  both  A[ontcalm  and  liigot,  })resently  l)egan  to  covet 
a  reconciliation  with  the  latter.     To  this  Bigot  was  by  no 


1G4 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


moans  uvorse,  for  his  own  position  Inid  danger.  Ilis  fol- 
lowers and  confederates,  Cournal,  ^[arin,  Cadet,  and  Ki- 
gaud,  were  rol)bing  the  King  with  a  daring  and  effrontery 
wliich  must  ultimately  bring  disaster.  This  he  knew,  but  it 
was  his  plan  to  hold  on  for  a  time  longer,  and  then  to  re- 
tiro  before  the  axe  fell  with  an  immense  fortune.  There- 
fore, about  the  time  set  for  my  execution,  he  began  to  close 
with  the  overtures  of  the  Governor,  and  ])resently  the  two 
formed  a  confederacy  against  the  Marquis  de  ^[ontcalm. 
Into  it  they  tried  to  draw  Doltaire,  and  were  surprised  to 
find  that  he  stood  them  off  as  to  anything  more  than  out- 
ward show  of  friendliness. 

Truth  was,  Doltaire,  who  had  no  sordid  feeling  in  him, 
loathed  alike  the  oui)i(iiLy  of  Bigot  and  the  incompetency 
of  the  Governor^  and  respected  Montcalm  for  his  honour 
and  reproached  Inm  for  his  rashness.  I'rom  first  to  last 
he  was,  without  show  of  it,  the  best  friend  Montcalm  had 
in  the  province  ;  and  thougli  he  held  aloof  from  bringing 
punishment  to  Bigot,  he  despised  him  and  his  friends, 
and  was  not  slow  to  make  that  plain.  D'Argenson  made 
inquiry  of  Doltaire  when  Montcalm's  honest  criticisms 
were  sent  to  France  in  cipher,  and  Doltaire  returned  the 
reply  that  Bigot  was  the  only  man  who  could  serve  Can- 
ada efficiently  in  this  '^risis ;  that  he  had  abounding  fer- 
tility of  resource,  a  clear  head,  a  strong  will,  and  great  ad- 
ministrative faculty.  This  was  all  he  would  say,  save  that 
wiien  the  war  was  over  other  matters  might  be  conned. 
]\[ean while  France  must  pav  liberal! v  for  the  Intendant's 
servi(?es ! 

Through  a  friend  in  France,  Bigot  came  to  know  that 
his  affairs  were  moving  to  a  crisis,  and  saw  that  it  would 
be  wise  to  retire  ;  but  he  loved  the  very  air  of  crisis,  and 
Madame  Cournal,  anxious  to  keep  him  in  Canada,  en- 
coura^red  him  in  his  natural  feeling  to  stand  or  fall  with 
the  colony.     lie  never  showed  aught  but  a  bold  and  con- 


ARC  AND  COURXAL. 


105 


iiiiide 
leisms 
(1  the 
Can- 
g  fer- 
ut  ad- 
e  that 
Diined. 
daiit's 

\y  tliat 
would 
s,  and 
I,  en- 
M'ith 
con- 


fident face  to  tlie  ])ublic,  and  was  in  all  repirds  the  most 
conspicuous  figure  iii  ^'e\v  France.  AVhen,  two  years  be- 
fore, Montcalm  took  Oswego  from  the  English,  Higot  threw 
open  his  palace  to  the  po})ulace  for  two  days'  feasting,  and 
every  night  during  the  war  he  entertained  lavishly,  though 
the  people  went  hungry,  jind  their  own  corn,  bought  for 
the  King,  was  sold  back  to  them  at  famine  prices. 

As  the  (Jovernor  and  the  Intendant  grew  together  in 
friendship,  Vaudrcuil  sinking  past  disap[)roval  in  present 
selfish  necessity,  thev  quietly  combined  against  Doltaire 
as  against  ]\[ontcalm.  let  at  this  very  time  Doltaire  was 
living  in  the  Intendance,  and,  as  he  had  told  Alixe,  not 
without  some  personal  danger,  lie  had  before  been  offered 
chambers  at  the  Chateau  St.  Louis;  but  these  he  would 
not  take,  for  he  could  not  bear  to  be  within  touc'.  (  .'  the 
Governor's  vanity  and  timidity,  lie  would  of  preierence 
have  stayed  in  the  Intendance  had  he  known  that  pitfalls 
and  traps  were  at  every  footstep.  Danger  gave  a  piquancy 
to  his  existence.  Perha})S  he  did  not  greatly  value  Ma- 
d'lme  Cournal's  admiration  of  himself  ;  but  when  it  drove 
Bigot  to  retaliation,  his  inuigination  got  an  impulse,  and 
he  entered  upon  a  conflict  which  ran  parallel  with  the 
war,  and  with  that  delicate  antagonism  which  Alixe 
waged  against  liim,  long  undiscovered  by  himself. 

At  my  wits'  ends  for  news,  at  last  1  begged  my  jailer 
to  convev  a  message  foi'  me  to  the  Governor,  askinu:  that 
the  barber  be  let  come  to  me.  The  next  day  an  answer 
arrived  in  the  person  of  \'oban  himself,  accompanied  by 
the  jailer.  For  a  time  there  was  little  speech  between  us, 
but  as  he  tended  me  we  talked.  AVe  could  do  so  with 
safety,  for  Voban  knew  English  ;  and  though  he  spoku  it 
brokenly,  he  had  freedom  in  it,  and  the  jailer  knew  no 
word  of  it.  At  first  the  fellow  blustered,  but  I  waved 
him  off.  lie  was  a  man  of  better  education  than  Gatbord, 
but  of  inferior  judgment  and  shrewdness,  lie  made  no 
12 


IGO 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MKillTY. 


trial  thcroaftor  to  interrupt  our  talk,  but  s.at  and  drumined 
upon  a  stool  with  liis  keys,  or  loitered  at  tliu  window,  or 
now  and  again  tlirust  liis  liand  into  my  pockets,  as  if  to 
see  if  weai)ons  were  concealed  in  tlicni. 

\  "  N'oban,"  said  I,  "  wliat  lias  linppened  since  I  saw  you 
at^tlie  Intendance?  'j\'ll  nie  lirst  of  niadenioiselle.  You 
have  notliing  from  lier  for  me?" 

"  Nothing,"  he  answered.  "  Tliere  is  no  time.  A 
sohlibi'  come  an  liour  ago  witli  an  order  fr'^ni  the  (Jov- 
ernor,  and  I  must  go  all  at  once.  So  I  come  as  you  see. 
But  as  for  the  ma'm'selle,  she  is  well.  I'uila.,  there  is  no 
one  like  her  in  New  France.  1  do  not  know  all,  as  you 
can  guess,  but  they  say  she  can  do  what  she  will  at  the 
Chateau.  It  is  a  wonder  to  see  her  drive.  A  month  ago 
a  droll  thing  come  to  i)ass.  She  is  driving  on  the  ice  with 
Ma'm'selle  Lotbiniere  and  her  brother  Charles.  M'sieu' 
Charles,  he  has  the  reins.  Soon,  ver'  quick,  the  horses 
start  with  all  their  might.  M'sieu'  saw  and  pull,  but  they 
go  the  faster.  Like  that  for  a  mile  or  so  ;  then  ma'm'selle 
remember  there  is  a  great  crack  in  the  ice  a  mile  farther 
on,  and  beyond,  the  ice  is  weak  and  rotten,  for  there  the 
curren'  is  ver'  strongest.  She  sees  that  M'sieu'  Charles., 
he  can  do  nothing,  so  she  reach  and  take  the  reins.  The 
horses  go  on  ;  it  make  no  diffrence  at  first.  But  she 
begin  to  talk  to  them  so  sof,  and  to  pull  ver'  steady,  and 
at  last  she  get  them  shaping  to  the  shore.  She  have  the 
reins  wound  on  her  hands,  and  people  on  the  shore,  they 
watch.  Little  on  little  th3  horses  pull  up,  and  stop  at 
last  not  a  hunder'  feet  from  the  great  crack  and  the 
rotten  ice.  Then  she  turn  them  round  and  drive  them 
liome. 

"  You  should  hear  the  people  cheer  as  she  drive  up 
Mountain  Street.  'J'he  bishop  stand  at  the  window  of 
his  palace  and  smile  at  her  as  she  pass,  and  m'sieu'  " — 
he   looked  at  the   jailer  and  ]viused — "m'sieu'  the  gen- 


iminod 
low,  or 
jis  if  to 

aw  vou 
.     You 

1110.     A 

ic  (lov- 

y-OU  St'O. 

re  is  no 
as  you 
at  tlio 
nth  ago 
ce  with 
M'sieu' 
!  horses 
)ut  they 
m'selle 
arthcr 
lere  tlie 
harles., 
The 
^ut  she 
y,  and 
ive  the 
•e,  they 
stop  at 
id   the 
them 


•ive  up 
low  of 
eu'  "— 


e  gea- 


ARGAXD   C'OURXAL. 


ig; 


tlonian  wo  do  not  lovo,  ho  stand  in  (lie  street  witli  his 
cap  oft  for  two  inimites  as  she  eomo,  and  after  she  go 
by,  and  say  a  grand  coniijlinu'iit  to  ht'r  so  tiiat  her  faeo 
go  })ak\  Ho  get  froze  ears  for  liis  pains — that  was  a 
cohl  (hiy.  Well,  at  night  there  was  a  grand  dinner  at 
the  ratoiuhanoo,  and  aftei-wards  a  ball  in  tlie  splendid 
room  whieh  that  man  "  (he  n.oant  liigot  :  I  shall  use 
names  when  (pioting  liim  further,  that  ho  may  he  bet- 
ter understood)  "built  for  the  ])oor  people  of  the  hind  for 
to  danee  down  their  sorrows.  iSo  vou  can  gue-s  I  would 
be  there — hai)py.  Ah  yes,  so  happy  !  1  go  and  stand  in 
the  great  gallery  above  tlu;  hall  of  danee,  with  crowd  of 
people,  and  look  down  at  the  grand  folk. 

"  One  man  eome  to  me  and  say,  '  Ah,  Voban,  is  it  you 
liere?  Who  would  think  it  I ' — like  that.  Another,  he 
come  and  say,  '  \'oban,  he  ean  not  keep  away  from  the  In- 
tendance.  AVho  does  lie  eome  to  look  for?  Jhit  no,  ,s7/e 
is  not  here — no.'  And  again,  another,  '  Why  should  not 
Voban  be  here?  One  man  has  not  enough  bread  to  eat, 
and  Bigot  steals  his  corn.  Another  hungers  for  a  wife  to 
sit  by  his  fire,  and  liigot  takes  the  nudd,  and  Voban  stulTs 
his  mouth  with  humble  pie  like  the  rest.  Chut  I  shall 
not  ]Mgot  have  his  fill?'  And  yet  another,  and,  ra//rt, 
she  was  a  woman,  she  say,  '  Look  at  the  Intendant  down 
there  with  madame.  And  M'sieu'  Cournal,  he  also  is 
there.  "What  does  M'sieu'  Cournal  eare  ?  No,  not  at  all. 
The  rich  man,  what  he  care,  if  he  has  gold?  \'irtue  ! 
ha,  ha!  what  is  that  in  vour  wife  if  vou  have  gold  for  it? 
Xotliiuir.  See  his  liand  at  the  Intendant's  arm.  See  how 
]\r'sieu'  Doltaire  look  id  them,  and  then  up  here  at  us. 
What  is  it  in  his  mind,  you  think?  Kh  ?  '^'ou  thiidv  he 
say  to  himself,  A  wife  all  to  himself  is  tlie  poor  man's  one 
luxury?  Eh?  Ah,  M'sieu'  Doltaire,  you  are  right,  you 
are  riirlit.  You  catch  up  mv  child  from  ils  basket  in  the 
market-place  one  day,  and  you  shake  it  ver'  soft,  an'  you 


i  y^^^ 


1G8 


THE  SEATS  OF   THE   MIGHTY. 


say,  '  Afiuliiim',  1  will  stako  tlio  last  year  of  my  life  that  I 
can  pill  my  litiiifor  on  the  fatiier  of  this  child.'  And  when 
I  laii.i,Hi  in  his  face,  he  say  a;;ain,  'And  if  he  th()ii<,dit  ho 
wasn't  its  father,  he  would  cut  out  the  liver  of  the  other 
— ehV  And  1  laii,i;h,  and  say,  '  My  .Iac(iucs  would  fol- 
low him  to  hell  to  do  it.'  Then  he  say,  Vohan,  lu^  say  to 
me,  '  That  is  the  dilTereiice  hctween  you  and  us.  We  only 
kill  men  who  meddle  with  our  mistr('sses  I '  Ah,  that 
M'sieu'  Doltairo,  lie  put  a  loiiis  in  the  hand  of  my  habe, 
and  he  not  even  kiss  me  on  the  cheek.  Pshaw  I  Jacques 
would  sell  him  tlfty  kisses  for  llflv  loiiis.  liut  sell  me, 
or  a  child  of  me?  Well,  Vohan,  you  can  guess  I  Pali, 
barber,  if  you  do  not  cjire  what  he  did  to  the  poor  Ma- 
tliilde,  there  are  other  maids  in  St.  I\och.'  " 

Vohan  paused  a  moment,  then  added  quietly,  "  How  do 
you  think  1  bear  it  all  ?  With  a  smile  ."  Mo,  1  hear  with 
my  ears  open  and  my  heart  close  tight.  Do  they  think 
they  can  teach  me  ?  Do  they  guess  I  sit  down  and  hear 
all  without  a  cry  from  my  throat  or  a  will  in  my  body? 
Ah,  m'sieu'  le  Cai-utaine,  it  is  you  wlio  know.  You  saw 
what  I  would  have  go  to  do  with  M'sieu'  Doltaire  before 
the  day  of  the  (ireat  liirth.  You  saw  if  1  am  a  coward — 
if  I  not  take  the  sword  when  it  was  at  my  throat  without 
a  whine.  Xo,  m'sieu',  I  can  wait.  There  is  a  time  for 
everything.  At  first  I  am  all  in  a  muddle,  I  not  know 
what  to  do  ;  but  by-and-bye  it  all  come  to  me,  and  you 
shall  see  one  day  what  I  wait  for.  Yes,  you  shall  see.  I 
look  down  on  that  people  dancing  there,  quiet  and  still, 
and  I  hear  some  laugh  at  me,  and  now  and  then  some  one 
say  a  good  word  to  me  that  make  mo  shut  my  haiuls  tight, 
so  the  tears  not  come  to  my  eyes.  But  I  felt  alone — so 
much  alone.  The  world  docs  not  want  a  sad  man.  In 
my  shop  I  try  to  laugh  as  of  old,  and  I  am  not  sour  or 
heavy,  but  I  can  see  men  do  not  say  droll  things  to  me  as 
once  back  time.     Xo,  I  am  not  as  I  was.     What  am  I  to 


■o 


AU(JANL)  COL' UN  A L. 


1(»0 


itliout 

me  for 

know 

a  you 

ice.     I 

still, 

ic  one 

tight, 

lie — so 

1.     In 

)ur  or 

nie  as 

1  I  to 


do?  There  is  but  one  way.  What  is  f]jreat  to  one  man  is 
not  to  another.  W'liat  kills  tin;  one  does  not  kill  tho 
other.  Take  au'Jiy  from  sonu»  people  one  thing,  and  they 
will  not  care;  from  others  that  same,  and  tlu're  is  nothing 
to  live  for,  exeept  just  to  live,  and  because  a  man  does  not 
like  death." 

llepaused.  "  You  are  righ.%  ^'oban,"  said  1.  "fJoon." 
lie  was  siliMit  agidn  for  a  tir/ie,  ami  then  he  moved  his 
hand  in  a  hi'l[)less  sort  of  way  across  his  forehead.  It 
had  become  deeply  lined  and  wrinkled  all  in  ;i  couple  of 
years.  His  temples  were  sunken,  his  checks  hollow,  and 
his  face  was  full  of  those  shadows  which  lend  a  sort  of 
tragedy  to  even  the  humblest  and  least  distinguisluMl 
countenance.  J  lis  eyes  had  a  restlessness,  anon  an  in- 
tense steadiness  almost  uncanny,  and  his  thin,  long  lingers 
had  a  stealthiness  of  motion,  a  soft  swiftness,  which  struck 
me  strangely.  I  never  saw  a  man  so  changtMl,  He  was 
like  a  vessel  wrested  from  its  moorings;  like  some  craft, 
filled  with  explosives,  set  loose  along  a  shore  liiu'd  with 
fishing-smacks,  which  miglit  come  foul  of  one,  and  blow 
the  company  of  men  and  boats  into  the  air.  As  ho  stood 
there,  his  face  luilf  turned  to  nu3  for  a  moment,  this  came 
to  my  mind,  and  T  said  to  him,  "  Voban,  you  look  like 
some  wicked  gun  which  would  blow  us  all  to  pieces." 

He  wheeled,  and  came  to  me  so  sv/iftly  that  I  shrank 
back  in  my  chair  witli  alarm,  his  action  was  so  sudden, 
and,  pcn'ing  intc  my  face,  he  said,  glancing,  as  I  thought, 
anxiously  at  the  jailer,  "  IMow — blow — how  blow  us  all  to 
pieces,  m'sieu'?"  He  eyed  me  with  suspicion,  and  I 
could  see  that  he  felt  like  some  hurt  animal  among  its 
captors,  ready  to  fight,  yet  not  knowing  from  wlcat  point 
danger  would  come.  Something  pregnant  in  what  I  said 
had  struck  home,  yet  I  could  not  guess  then  what  it  was, 
though  afterwards  it  came  to  me  with  great  force  and 
vividness. 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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170 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


"I  meant  notliiiig,  Yoban,"  answered  I,  "save  that 
you  look  dangerous." 

I  luUf  put  out  my  hand  to  touch  his  arm  in  a  friendly 
way,  but  I  saw  tliat  the  jailer  was  watching,  and  I  did  not. 
Voban  felt  what  I  was  about  to  do,  and  his  face  instantly 
softened,  and  his  blood-shot  eyes  gave  me  a  look  of  grati- 
tude.    Then  he  said  : 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  happen  next.  I  know  the  palace 
Tery  well,  and  when  I  see  tlie  Intendant  and  j\['sieu'  Dol- 
taire  and  others  leave  the  ballroom  I  knew  that  they  go 
to  tlie  chamber  which  they  call  '  la  Chambre  de  la  Joie,' 
to  ])lay  at  cards.  So  1  steal  away  out  of  the  crowd  into  a 
passage  which,  as  it  seem,  go  nowhere,  and  come  quick, 
all  at  once,  to  a  bare  wall.  But  I  know  tlie  way.  In  one 
corner  of  the  passage  I  press  a  spring,  and  a  little  panel 
open.  I  crawl  through  and  close  it  behin'.  Then  I  feel 
my  way  along  the  dark  corner  till  I  come  to  another  panel. 
This  I  open,  and  I  see  light.  You  ask  how  I  can  do  this? 
Weil,  I  tell  you.  There  is  the  valet  of  Bigot,  he  is  my 
friend.  You  not  guess  who  it  is  ?  Xo  ?  It  is  a  man 
whose  crime  in  France  I  know.  He  was  afraid  when  he 
saw  me  here,  but  I  say  to  him,  *Xo,  I  will  not  speak — 
never';  and  he  is  all  my  friend  just  when  I  most  need. 
Eh,  voila^  I  see  light,  as  I  said,  and  I  push  aside  heavy  cur- 
tains ver'  little,  and  there  is  the  Chamber  of  the  Joy  below. 
There  they  all  are,  the  Intendant  and  the  rest,  sitting 
down  to  the  tal)les.  There  was  Capitaine  Lancy,  ^I'sieu' 
Cadet,  M'sieu'  Cournal,  ]\rsieu'  le  Chevalier  de  Levis,  and 
M'sieu'  le  Cenerale,  le  ^Marquis  de  Montcalm.  I  am  as- 
tonish to  see  him  there,  the  great  General,  in  his  grand 
coat  of  blue  and  gold  and  red,  and  laces  ires  hcaii  at  his 
throat,  with  a  fine  jewel.  Ah,  he  is  not  ver'  high  on  his 
feet,  but  he  has  an  eye  all  fire,  and  a  laugh  come  quick  to 
his  lips,  aiul  he  speak  yqy''  galanf,  but  he  never  let  them, 
Messieurs  Cadet,  ^larin,   Lancy,  and   the  rest,  be  thick 


i 


ARGAXD  COURNAL. 


171 


friends  with  him.  Tlioy  do  not  clap  their  hands  on  his 
shoulder  comme  le  hoii  cainarade — non! 

"  Well,  they  sit  down  to  play,  and  soon  there  is  much 
noise  and  laughing,  and  then  sometimes  a  silence,  and 
then  again  the  noise,  and  you  can  see  one  snuff  a  candle 
with  the  points  of  two  rapiers,  or  hear  a  sword  jangle  at  a 
chair,  or  listen  to  some  one  sing  ver'  soft  a  song  as  he  hold 
a  good  hand  of  cards,  or  the  ring  of  louis  on  the  table,  or 
the  sound  of  glass  as  it  break  on  the  lloor.  And  once  a 
young  gentleman — ahis !  he  is  so  young — he  got  up  from 
his  chair,  and  cry  out, 'AH  is  lost!  I  go  to  die!'  He 
raise  a  pistol  to  his  head  ;  but  M'sieu'  JJoltaire  catch  his 
hand,  and  say  quite  soft  and  gentle,  '  >i'o,  no,  'fno}i  enfant^ 
enough  of  making  fun  of  us.  Here  is  the  liunder'  louis 
I  borrow  of  you  yesterday.  Take  your  revenge.'  The  lad 
sit  down  slow,  looking  ver'  strange  at  M'sieu'  Doltaire. 
And  it  is  true :  he  take  his  revenge  out  of  M'sieu'  Cadet, 
for  he  win — I  saw  it — three  hunder'  louis.  Then  M'sieu' 
Doltaire  lean  over  to  him  and  say,  '  M'sieu',  you  will  carry 
for  me  a  message  to  the  citadel  for  i\rsieu'  Ramesay,  the 
commandant.'  Ah,  it  was  a  sight  to  see  M'sieu'  Cadet's 
face,  going  this  way  and  that.  But  it  was  no  use :  the 
young  gentleman  pocket  his  louis,  and  go  away  with  a 
letter  from  M'sieu'  Doltaire.  But  M'sieu'  Doltaire,  he 
laugh  in  the  face  of  IM'sieu'  Cadet,  and  say  ver'  pleasant, 
'  That  is  a  servant  of  the  King,  m'sieu',  who  live  by  his 
sword  .'done.  AVliy  should  civilians  be  so  greedy?  Come, 
play,  m'sieu'  Cadet.  If  M'sieu'  the  General  will  play  with 
me,  we  two  will  see  what  we  can  do  with  you  and  his  Ex- 
cellencv  the  Intendant.' 

"  They  sit  just  beneath  me,  and  1  hear  all  what  is 
said,  I  see  all  the  looks  of  them,  every  card  that  is  played. 
M'sieu'  the  General  have  not  })lay  yet,  but  watch  M'sieu' 
Doltaire  and  the  Intendant  at  the  cards.  With  a  smile 
he  now  sit  down.    Then  M'sieu'  Doltaire,  he  say,  '  M'sieu' 


I 


172 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


Cadet,  let  us  liuve  no  misttike — let  us  be  commercial.' 
lie  take  out  his  watch.  '  1  have  two  hours  to  spare ;  are 
you  dispose  to  i)lay  for  tliat  time  only?  To  the  moment 
we  will  rise,  and  there  shall  be  no  question  of  satisfaction, 
no  discontent  anywhere — eh,  shall  it  be  so,  if  m'sieu'  the 
General  can  s})are  the  time  also?'  It  is  agree  that  the 
General  play  for  one  hour  and  go,  and  that  M'sieu'  Dol- 
taire  and  the  Intendant  })lay  for  the  rest  of  the  time. 

"  They  begin,  and  1  hide  there  and  watch.  The  time 
go  ver'  fast,  and  my  breath  catch  in  my  throat  to  see  how 
great  the  stakes  tliey  play  for.  1  hear  M'sieu'  Doltaire 
say  at  last,  with  a  smile,  taking  out  his  watch,  '  M'sieu' 
the  General,  your  time  is  up,  and  you  take  with  you  twenty 
thousan'  francs.' 

"  The  General,  he  smile  and  wave  his  hand,  as  if  sorry 
to  take  so  much  from  M'sieu'  Cadet  and  the  Intendant. 
M'sieu  Cadet  sit  dark,  and  speak  nothing  at  tirst,  but  at 
last  he  get  up  and  turn  on  his  heel  and  walk  away,  leav- 
ing what  he  lose  on  the  table.  M'sieu'  the  General  bow 
also,  and  go  from  the  room.  Then  M'sieu'  Doltaire  and 
the  Intendant  play.  One  by  one  the  other  players  stoji, 
and  come  and  watch  these.  Something  get  into  the  two 
gentlemen,  for  both  are  pale,  and  the  face  of  the  Intend- 
ant all  of  spots,  and  his  little  round  eyes  like  specks  of 
red  fire;  but  M'sieu'  Doltaire's  face,  it  is  still,  and  his 
brows  bend  over,  and  now  and  then  he  make  a  little  laugh- 
ing out  of  his  lips.  All  at  once  I  hear  him  say,  '  Double 
the  stakes,  your  Excellency  ! '  The  Intendant  look  up 
sharp  and  say,  *  What !  Two  hunder' thousan'  francs!' 
— as  if  M'sieu'  Doltaire  could  not  })ay  such  a  sum  like 
that.  M'sieu'  Doltaire  smile  ver'  wicked,  and  answer, 
'  Make  it  three  hunder'  thousan'  francs,  your  Excellency.' 
It  is  so  still  in  the  Chamber  of  the  Joy  that  all  you  hear 
for  a  minute  was  the  fat  Monsieur  Varin  breathe  like  a  hog, 
and  the  rattle  of  a  spur  as  some  one  slide  a  foot  ou  the  lloor. 


nercial.' 

ire;  ure 

iiomeiit 

faction, 

iou'  tho 

hut  the 

)u'  Dol- 

nc. 

he  time 

see  liow 

)oltuire 

M'sieu' 

twenty 

if  sorry 
end  ant. 
,  but  at 
y,  leav- 
ral  bow 
ire  and 
rs  stop, 
he  two 
[ntend- 
ecks  of 
-nd  liis 
huigh- 
Double 
)ok  up 
•ancs ! ' 
m  like 
mswer, 
llency.' 
»u  licar 
I  a  hog, 
e  lloor. 


ARGAND  COURXAL. 


173 


"  The  Intendant  look  blank  ;  then  he  nod  his  head  for 
answer,  and  each  write  on  a  i)icce  of  paper.  As  they  be- 
gin, M'sieu'  Doltaire  take  out  his  watch  and  lav  it  on  the 
table,  and  the  Intendant  do  the  same,  and  they  both  look 
at  tlie  time.  The  watch  of  the  Intendant  is  all  jewels. 
'  Will  you  not  add  the  watches  to  the  stake  V '  sav 
M'sieu'  Doltaire.  The  Intendant  look,  and  shrug  a  shoul- 
der, and  shake  his  head  for  no,  and  M'sieu'  Doltaire  smile 
in  a  sly  way,  so  that  the  Intendant's  teeth  show  at  his  lips 
and  his  eyes  almost  close,  he  is  so  angry. 

"Just  this  minute  I  hear  a  low  noise  behind  me,  and 
then  some  one  give  a  little  cry.  I  turn  quick  and  see 
Madame  Cournal.  She  stretch  her  hand,  and  touch  my 
lips,  and  motion  me  not  to  stir.  I  look  down  again,  and 
I  see  that  M'sieu'  Doltaire  look  up  to  the  place  where  I 
am,  for  he  hear  that  sound,  T  think — I  not  know  sure. 
But  he  say  once  more,  '  The  watch,  the  watch,  your  Ex- 
cellency !  I  have  a  fancy  for  yours ! '  I  feel  madame 
breathe  hard  beside  me,  but  I  not  like  to  look  ':ic  her.  I 
am  not  afraid  of  men,  but  a  woman  that  v/ay — ah,  it  make 
me  shiver!  She  will  betray  me,  I  think.  All  at  once  I 
feel  her  hand  at  my  belt,  then  at  my  pocket,  to  see  if  I 
have  a  weapon ;  for  the  thought  come  to  her  that  I  am 
there  to  kill  Bigot.  But  I  raise  my  hands  and  say  '  Xo,' 
ver'  quiet,  and  she  nod  her  head  all  right. 

"  The  Intendant  wave  his  hand  at  M'sieu'  Doltaire  to 
say  he  would  not  stake  the  watch,  for  I  know  it  is  one 
madame  give  him  ;  and  then  they  begin  to  play.  Xo  one 
stir.  The  cards  go  out /? /"/;,// /;?,  on  the  table,  and  with  a 
little  soft  scrape  in  the  hands,  and  I  hear  Bigot's  hound 
munch  a  bone.  All  at  once  M'sieu'  Doltaire  throw  down 
his  cards,  and  say,  '  Mine,  Bigot !  'J'hree  hunder'  thousan' 
francs,  and  the  time  is  up  I '  The  other  get  from  his 
chair,  and  say,  '  How  would  you  have  pay  if  you  had  lost, 
Doltaire  V '    And  m'sieu'  answer,  '  From  the  colfers  of  the 


174 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


King,  like  you,  Bigot.'  Ilis  tone  is  odd.  1  feel  madame's 
breath  go  liard.  Bigot  turn  round  and  say  to  tlie  others, 
*  Will  you  take  your  way  to  tlie  great  hall,  messieurs,  and 
M'siou'  Doltaire  and  I  will  follow.  We  have  some  private 
conf'rence.'  They  all  turn  away,  all  but  M'sieu'  Cournal, 
and  leave  the  room,  whispering.  '  I  will  join  you  soon, 
Cournal,'  say  his  Excelleney.  M'sieu'  Cournal  not  go,  for 
he  have  been  drinking,  and  something  stubborn  get  into 
him.  But  the  Intendant  order  him  rough,  and  he  go.  I 
can  hear  madame  gna;>h  her  teeth  sof  beside  me. 

"  When  the  door  close,  the  Intendant  turn  to  M'sieu' 
Doltaire  and  say,  '  What  is  the  end  for  which  you  play?' 
M'sieu'  Doltaire  make  a  little  motion  of  his  hand,  and 
answer,  '  For  three  hunder'  thousan'  francs.'  '  And  to 
pay,  m'sieu',  how  to  2)ay  if  you  had  lostV  M'sieu'  Dol- 
taire lay  his  hand  on  his  sword  sof.  '  From  the  King's 
cotfers,  as  I  say ;  he  owes  me  more  than  he  has  paid. 
But  not  like  you,  Bigot.  I  have  earned,  this  w\ay  and 
that,  all  that  I  might  ever  get  from  the  King's  coUers — 
even  this  three  hunder'  thousan'  francs,  ten  times  told. 
But  you.  Bigot — tusli !  wliy  should  we  make  bubbles  of 
words?'  The  Intendant  get  white  in  the  face,  but  there 
are  spots  on  it  like  on  a  late  apple  of  an  old  tree.  '  You 
go  too  far,  Doltaire,'  he  say.  'You  have  hint  before  my 
officers  and  m  7  friends  that  I  make  free  with  the  King's 
coffers.'  M'sieu'  answer,  '  You  should  see  no  such  hints, 
if  your  palms  were  not  musty.'  '  How  know  you,'  ask 
the  Intendant,  '  that  my  hands  are  musty  from  the  King's 
coffers?'  ^I'sieu'  arrange  his  laces,  and  say  light,  'As 
easy  from  the  must  as  I  tell  how  time  passes  in  your  nights 
by  the  ticking  of  this  trinket  here.'  He  raise  his  sword 
and  touch  the  Intendant's  watch  on  the  table. 

"  I  never  hear  such  silence  as  there  is  for  a  minute, 
and  then  the  Intendant  say,  '  You  have  gone  one  step  too 
far.     The  must  on  my  hands,  seen  through  your  eyes,  is 


adamc's 
3  others, 
II  rs,  and 
private 
Journal, 
311  soon, 
t  go,  for 
get  into 
3  go.     I 

M'sien' 

play  ? ' 

nd,  and 

And  to 

(u'  Dol- 

King's 

LS  paid. 

ay  and 

)ilers — 

3s  told. 

bles  of 

t  there 

'  You 

)re  my 

King's 

I  hints, 

11,'  asiv 

King's 

it,  'As 

nights 

sword 

linute, 
ep  too 
;yes,  is 


ar(;ani)  courvXAL. 


-I   hr<^ 


no  matter,  but  when  you  must  the  name  of  a  lady  there  is 
but  one  end.  You  uiiderstan',  m'.sieu',  there  is  l)ut  one 
end.'  M'sieu'  laugh.  '  Tlie  sword,  you  mean?  Eh? 
No,  no,  1  will  not  light  with  you.  I  am  not  here  to  rid 
the  King  of  so  excellent  an  ollieor,  however  large  fee  he 
force  for  his  services.'  'And  1  tell  you,'  say  the  Intend- 
ant,  '  that  I  will  not  have  you  cast  a  slight  ui)()n  a  lady.' 
jMadame  besiuc  me  sturt  up,  jind  whisper  to  me,  '  If  you 
betray  me,  you  shall  die.  If  you  be  still,  I  too  will  say 
nothing.'  But  then  a  thing  happen.  Another  voice 
sound  from  below,  and  there,  coming  from  behind  a  great 
screen  of  oak  wood,  is  M'sieu'  C'ournal,  his  face  all  red 
with  wine,  his  hand  on  his  sword.  '  liah  I '  he  say,  com- 
ing forward — '  bah !  I  will  speak  for  madame.  1  will 
speak.  I  have  been  silent  long  enough.'  lie  come  be- 
tween the  two,  and,  raising  his  sword,  he  strike  the  time- 
piece and  smash  it.  'Ila!  ha  I '  he  say,  wild  with  drink, 
'  I  have  you  both  here  alone.'  lie  siuip  his  finger  under 
the  Intendant's  nose.  '  It  is  time  I  protect  my  wife's 
name  from  you,  and,  by  God,  I  will  do  it!'  At  that 
i\r'sieu'  Doltaire  laugh,  and  Cournal  turn  to  him  and  say, 
'  Batard  ! '  The  Intendant  have  out  his  sword,  and  he 
roar  in  a  hoarse  voice,  '  Dog,  you  shall  die  ! '  But  jM'sieu' 
Doltaire  strike  up  his  sword,  and  face  the  drunken  man. 
*  No,  leave  that  to  me.  The  King's  cause  goes  shipwreck  ; 
Ave  can't  change  helmsman  now.  Think — scandal  and 
your  disgrace!'  Then  he  make  a  pass  at  M'sieu' Cour- 
nal, who  parry  quick.  Another,  and  he  prick  his  shoul- 
der. Another,  and  then  madame  beside  me,  as  I  spring 
back,  throw  aside  the  curtains,  and  cry  out,  '  Xo,  m'sieu' ! 
no  !     For  shame  ! ' 

"  I  kneel  in  a  corner  behind  the  curtains,  and  wait  and 
listen.  There  is  not  a  sound  for  a  moment ;  then  I  hear 
a  laugh  from  M'sieu'  Cournal,  such  a  laugli  as  make  me 
sick — loud,  and  full  of  what  you  call  not  care  and  the 


176 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MKJIITY. 


tk'vil.  Mjulamo  spciik  down  ;it  tliem.  '  Ah,' slio  say, 'it 
is  so  fine  u  sport  to  di'iiuj  a  womairs  name  in  tlio  niirc!' 
Hit  voice  is  full  of  si)irit,  ami  she  look  heautiful — beauti- 
ful. 1  never  guess  how  a  woman  like  that  look  ;  so  full 
of  pride,  and  to  speak  likc^  von  eould  think  knives  sinj^  as 
they  strike  steel — sharp  and  eold.  '  I  eanie  to  see  liow 
gentlemen  look  at  ])lay,  and  they  end  m  brawling  over  a 
lady ! ' 

"]\I'sieu'  Doltaire  speak  to  her,  and  they  all  put  up 
their  swords,  and  M'sieu'  Cournal  sit  down  at  a  table,  and 
he  stare  and  stare  up  at  the  baleony,  and  make  a  motion 
now  and  then  with  his  hand.  M'sieu'  Doltaire  say  to  her, 
'Madame,  you  must  excuse  our  entertainment;  we  did 
not  know  we  had  an  audience  so  distinguished.'  She  re- 
ply, 'As  scene-shifter  and  prompter,  M'sieu'  Doltaire,  you 
have  a  mh.  Y'our  Excellencv,'  she  sav  to  the  Intendant, 
'  I  will  wait  for  you  at  the  top  of  the  great  staircase,  if 
vou  will  be  so  <i:ood  as  to  take  me  to  the  ballroom.'  The 
Intendant  and  M'sieu'  Doltaive  bow,  and  turn  to  the  door, 
and  M'sieu'  (-ournal  scowl,  and  make  as  if  to  follow;  but 
madame  speak  down  at  him,  '  M'sieu' — Argand  ' — like 
that!  and  he  turn  back,  and  sit  down.  I  think  she  for- 
get me,  I  keep  so  still.  The  others  bow  and  scrai)e,  and 
leave  the  room,  and  the  two  are  alone — alone,  for  what 
am  I?  What  if  a  dog  hear  great  people  speak?  No,  it 
is  no  matter ! 

"There  is  all  still  for  a  little  while,  and  I  watch. her 
face  as  she  lean  over  the  rail  and  look  down  at  him  ;  it  is 
like  stone  that  aches,  and  her  eves  stare  and  stare  at 
him.  lie  look  up  at  her  and  scowl ;  then  he  laugh, 
with  a  toss  of  the  finger,  and  sit  down.  All  at  once  he 
put  his  hand  on  his  sword,  and  gnash  his  teeth. 

"Then  she  speak  down  to  him,  her  voice  ver'  qniet. 
'  Argand,'  she  say,  '  you  are  more  a  man  drunk  than  sober. 
Argand,'  she  go  on,  '  years  ago,  they  said  you  were  a  brave 


AROAND  COUUXAL. 


1 


(  i 


0  say,  '  it 
10  niiro ! ' 
— beauti- 

;  so  full 

s  sing  as 

soo  how 

g  over  a 

put  np 
iblo,  and 

1  motion 
V  to  lier, 

WO  did 

She  re- 
liro,  you 
tendant, 
ircaso,  if 

'  The 
he  door, 
ow ;  bu  t 
\  '—like 
she  for- 
ipe,  and 
3r  what 

No,  it 

tell  .her 
m  ;  it  is 
=itarc  at 
laugh, 
once  he 

'  quiet, 
n  sober, 
a  brave 


man  ;  you  fight  well,  you  do  good  w  )rk  for  tlie  King, 
your  name  goes  with  a  swuet  sound  to  Versailles.  You 
had  only  your  sword  and  my  poor  fortune  anil  me  then — 
tiiat  is  all  ;  but  you  were  a  man.  You  had  and)ition,  so 
had  1.  What  e;in  a  woman  do?  You  had  your  sword, 
your  country,  the  King's  service.  Ihadljcauty;  1  wanU'd 
power — ah  yes,  power,  that  was  the  thing!  l)ut  J  was 
vounir  and  a  fool ;  you  were  older.  You  talked  line 
things  then,  but  you  had  a  base  heart,  so  much  baser  than 
mine.  ...  I  might  have  been  a  good  woman.  1  was  a 
fool,  and  weak,  and  vain,  but  you  were  base — so  base — 
coward  and  betrayer,  you  ! ' 

"At  that  m'sieu'  start  up  and  snatch  at  his  sword, 
and  speak  out  between  his  teeth,  '  l^y  CJod,  1  will  kill 
you  to-Tiiglit!'  She  smile  cold  and  hard,  and  say, 'Xo, 
no,  you  will  not;  it  is  too  late  for  killing;  that  should 
have  been  done  before.  You  sold  your  right  to  kill  long 
ai,n-),  Ar<rand  Cournal.  \'ou  have  been  close  frirnds  with 
the  man  who  gave  me  power,  and  you  gold.'  Then  she 
get  fierce.  '  AVho  gave  you  gold  before  he  gave  me  power, 
traitor?'  lake  that  she  speak.  'Do  you  never  think 
of  what  you  have  lost?'  Then  she  break  out  in  a  laugh. 
'  Pah  !  Listen  :  if  there  must  be  killing,  whv  not  be  the 
great  Tloman — drunk  ! ' 

"  Then  she  laugh  so  hard  a  laugh,  and  turn  away,  and 
go  quick  by  me  and  not  see  me.  She  step  into  the  dark, 
and  he  sit  down  in  a  chair,  and  look  straight  in  front  of 
liim.  I  do  not  stir,  and  after  a  minute  she  come  back 
sof,  and  peep  down,  her  face  all  diiferen'.  '  Argand  ! 
Argand!'  she  say  ver'  tender  and  low,  '  if — if — if — like 
that.  But  just  then  he  see  the  broken  watch  on  the 
fioor,  and  he  stooj),  with  a  laugh,  and  pick  up  the  pieces; 
then  he  ^et  a  candle  and  look  on  the  floor  evervwhere  for 
the  jewels,  and  he  pick  them  up,  and  put  them  away  one 
by  one  in  his  purse  like  a  miser,     lie  keep  on  looking, 


17.S 


TIIK  SFATS   OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


and  oiK'o  tlio  firo  of  the  cinullc  hiini  liis  bojinl,  imd  lie 
swear,  ami  she  stare  ami  stare  al  him.  lie  sit.  (h)\vn  at  the 
tal)le,  uml  looiv  at  tlii'  jewels  ami  laii^i^ii  to  liimsi'lt'.  Thou 
she  draw  hi'i'sclf  ii(),  ami  shake,  ami  put  lier  hands  to  her 
eyes,  and,  '  C'V.v/ _//////  c'cst  Jini!'  she  whisper,  and  that 
is  aU. 

"  When  slie  is  ^n)m',  al'tei'  a  litile  time  he  ehange — ah, 
he  chani^e  much,  lie  i^o  to  a  table  and  ])()ur  out  a  <»;reat 
bowl  of  wine,  and  thfii  another,  and  he  drink  them  both, 
aud  lu'  beii-iii  to  walk  up  and  down  the  tloor.  lie  sway 
now  and  then,  but  he  kee[>  on  for  a  lon^*^  time.  Onee  a 
servant  come,  but  he  wave  him  away,  and  ho  scowl  and 
talk  to  himself,  aud  shut  the  doors  and  locdv  them.  'J'lien 
he  walk  on  and  on.  At  last  he  sit  down,  and  he  face  me. 
In  front  of  him  are  candles,  and  he  stare  between  them, 
and  stare  and  stare.  1  sit  and  watch,  and  I  feel  a  i)ity. 
I  hear  him  say,  '  Antoinette  !  Antoinette  I  My  dear  An- 
toinette !  We  are  lost  forever,  my  Antoinette ! '  Then 
he  take  the  purse  from  his  pocket,  Jind  throw  it  up  to  the 
balconv  where  I  am.  '  Prettv  sins,'  he  sav,  *  follow  the 
sinner ! '  It  lie  there,  and  it  have  sprung  open,  and  I  can 
sec  the  jewels  shine,  but  I  not  touch  it — no.  Well,  he  sit 
there  long — long,  and  his  face  get  gray  and  his  cheeks  all 
hollow. 

"I  hear  the  clock  strike  one!  f/rof  f/nrc !  four! 
Once  some  one  come  and  try  the  door,  but  go  away  again, 
and  he  never  stir;  he  is  like  a  dead  man.  At  last  I  fall 
asleep.  When  I  wake  u]),  he  still  sit  there,  but  his  head 
lie  in  his  arms.  I  look  round.  Ah,  it  is  not  a  fine  sight 
— no.  The  candles  burn  so  low,  and  there  is  a  smell  of 
wick,  and  the  grease  runs  here  and  there  down  the  great 
candlesticks.  Upon  the  iloor,  this  ])lacc  and  that,  is  a 
card,  and  pieces  of  pa})er,  and  a  scarf,  and  a  bndven 
glass,  and  something  that  shine  by  a  small  table.  This  is 
a  picture  in  a  little  gold  frame.     On  all  the  tables  stand 


AI  ?iANI)  COUUNAL. 


179 


1,  1111(1  lie 
wii  at  tlio 
f.  Tlioii 
lis  to  her 
Jlllll    tluit 

11.2:0 — all, 
it  a  great 
Jill  both, 
lie  sway 
Once  a 
,'o\vl  and 

I.  'riien 
face  me. 
)n  them, 
d1  a  i)ity. 
lear  Au- 
'  Then 
ip  to  the 
Ik/W  the 
nd  I  can 

II,  he  sit 
leeks  all 

!  four  ! 
ly  again, 
ist  I  fall 
lis  head 
[10  sight 
smell  of 
10  groat 
lat,  is  a 
broken 
This  is 
)s  stand 


glasses,  some  full  and  some  empty,  of  wine.  And  jnst  as 
thiMhiwn  come  in  tbrongh  tlio  tall  \\in(h)\vs,  a  cat  crawl 
out  from  somewhere,  all  ver'  thin  and  sliy,  and  walk 
across  th<'  floor;  it  makes  the  room  look  so  much  alone. 
At  last  it  come  and  move  against  m'sieu's  legs,  and  he 
lift  his  head  and  look  down  at  it,  and  nod,  and  sav 
something  which  I  not  hear.  After  that  iie  get  uj),  and 
pull  himself  together  with  a  shake,  and  walk  down  the 
room.  Then  he  see  the  little  gold  picture  on  the  iloor 
which  some  drunk  young  olllcer  drop,  and  he  pick  it  up 
and  look  at  it,  and  walk  again.  '  Poor  fool !'  he  say,  and 
look  at  the  jiicturo  again.  '  I'oor  fool !  AVill  he  curse  her 
some  day— II  child  with  a  face  like  that?  Ah  !'  And  he 
throw  the  picture  down.  'J'hen  he  walk  away  to  the 
doors,  unlock  them,  and  go  out.  Soon  I  steal  away 
through  the  panels,  and  out  of  the  palace  ver'  quiet,  and 
go  home.     But  I  can  see  that  room  in  my  mind." 

Again  the  jailer  hurried  \'ol)an.  There  was  no  excuse 
for  him  to  remain  longer ;  so  I  gave  him  a  message  to 
Alixo,  jind  slipped  into  his  hand  a  transcri[)t  from  my 
journal.  Then  he  loft  mo,  and  I  sat  and  thought  upon 
the  strange  events  of  the  evening  which  he  had  described 
to  me.  That  he  was  bent  on  mischief  1  felt  sure,  but  how 
it  would  come,  what  wore  his  plans,  I  could  not  guess. 
Then  suddenly  there  flashed  into  my  mind  my  words  to 
him,  "  blow  us  all  to  pieces,"  and  his  consternation  and 
strange  eagerness.  It  came  to  me  suddenly  :  he  meant 
to   blow   up   the   Intondance.     When  V    And    how  ?    It 

seemed  absurd  to  think  of  it.     Yet — yet The  grim 

humour  of  the  thing  possessed  mo,  and  I  sat  back  and 
laughed  hcartilv. 

In  the  midst  of  my  mirth  the  cell  door  opened  and  let 
in  Doltaire. 


180 


THE  ttllATS  OF  THE  MIUUTV. 


XV. 


IN'  Tirr:  (iiamiu'i:  or  Toin'iiii;. 

I  STAUTKI)  from  my  sc.it ;  wo  bowed,  and,  stn^tchiii^' 
out  ii  liiind  to  the  lir*',  Doltaire  said, '' Ah,  my  cjiptuiii, 
wo  meet  loo  sclilom.  lict  mo  sec:  live  montlis — ah  vos, 
nearly  livi'  months.  Ildieve  mi',  I  have  not  breakfasted 
so  heartily  since.  Voii  arc  looking  uUh.'r — older.  Solitndo 
to  the  active  mind  is  iKjt  to  bo  ondnrod  alono — no." 

''  Monsieur  Doltairo  is  the  surgeon  to  my  solitude," 
said  1. 

'*  ITml"  h(>  answered,  "a  jail  surgeon  merely.  Ami 
that  brings  mo  to  a  point,  monsieur.  I  have  luid  letters 
from  I-'ranco.  The  (Jrande  ^faniuiso — I  may  as  well  be 
frank  with  you — womaidikc,  yearns  violently  for  those 
silly  letters  which  you  hold.  She  would  sell  our  Franc^e 
for  them.  There  is  a  chaiu'o  for  you  who  would  serve 
your  country  so.  Servi;  it,  and  yourself — and  me.  We 
have  no  news  yet  as  to  your  doom,  but  be  sure  it  is  cer- 
tain. La  Pompadour  knows  all,  and  if  you  are  stubborn, 
twentv  deaths  were  too  few.  I  can  save  vou  little  louirer, 
even  were  it  mv  will  so  to  do.  For  mvself,  the  great  ladv 
girds  at  me  for  being  so  poor  an  agent.  You,  monsieur" 
— he  smiled  whimsicallv — "will  agree  that  I  have  been 
persistent — aiul  intolligont." 

"  80  much  so,"  rejoined  I,  "as  to  be  intrusive." 

He  smiled  again.  "  If  La  Pompadour  could  hear  you, 
she  would  understand  why  I  prefer  the  live  amusing  lion 
to  the  dead  dog.  When  you  are  gone,  I  shall  be  incon- 
solable.    I  am  a  born  in(|uisitor." 

"  You  were  born  for  better  things  than  this,"  I  an- 
swered. 

lie  took  a  seat  and  mused  for  a,  moment.  "  For  larijer 
things,  you  mean,"  was  his  reply.     "  Perhaps— perhaps. 


IN  TiiK  ('nA>fnr.R  op  TouTrin":. 


181 


•(ft('liin<^ 

CJlptiUM, 

-all  yuA, 
ikFiisti'd 
Solitiulo 


n 


)litiido," 

/.     And 

I  k'ttors 

well  bo 

)!'    tllOrfO 

Franco 
Id  serve 
10.     Wo 

it  is  cer- 
ul)l)orn, 
lonii^er, 
eat  lady 
bnsieur  " 
ve  been 

ear  vou, 
Ing  lion 
)  incon- 

"  I  an- 

►r  larger 
lerhaps. 


I  have  oni*  ^dl't  of  the  stioni^  man  -  1  am  inexorable  when 
I  mako  for  my  end.  As  u^M'inu'ai,  1  would  i)our  men  into 
the  maw  of  ileutli  as  eorn  into  the  )ioj»i»er,  if  that  would 
build  a  brid;;e  to  my  end.  ^'ou  call  to  mind  how  thos(5 
Spaniards  (!on(jueriMl  the  .Mexi(pi«' eity  which  was  all  camds 
like  N'enice'r'  They  IUUmI  the  waterways  with  shattered 
houses  and  the  bodies  of  their  enemies,  us  they  fought 
their  way  to  Mont(!7,uma's  palace.  So  I  would  know  not 
j)ity  if  1  had  a  great  cause.  Jn  anything  vital  I  would 
have  succoss  at  all  cost,  and  to  gist,  destroy  as  1  went — if 
1  were  a  great  man." 

1  thought  with  horror  of  his  pursuit  of  my  dcsar  Alixe. 
"  I  am  your  hunter,"  had  been  his  words  to  her,  and  I 
knew  not  what  had  happentnl  in  all  theses  months. 

"If  you  were  a  great  man,  you  sbould  have  the  best 
prerogative  of  greatness,"  I  remarked  (piietly. 

"And  wbat  is  that?  Some  excellent  moral,  1  doubt 
not,"  was  tlus  rejoinder. 

"  Mercy,"  1  replied. 

"Tush!"  ho  retorted,  "  mercy  is  for  tlio  fireside,  not 
for  the  throne.  In  great  causes,  what  is  a  screw  of  tyranny 
here,  a  bolt  of  oppression  there,  or  a  few  thousand  lives!" 
lie  suddeidy  got  to  his  feet,  and,  looking  into  the  distance, 
made  a  swift  motion  of  his  hand,  his  eyes  half  closed,  his 
brows  brooding  and  firm.  "  I  should  look  beyond  the 
moment,  the  year,  or  the  generation.  Why  fret  because 
the  hour  of  death  comes  sooner  than  we  looked  for?  Jn 
the  movement  of  the  ponderous  car  some  honest  folk 
must  be  crushed  by  the  wicked  wheels.  No,  no,  in  large 
alTairs  there  must  bo  no  thought  of  the  detail  of  misery, 
else  what  should  bo  done  in  the  world !  Tie  who  is  the 
strongest  shall  survive,  and  he  alone.  It  is  all  conflict — 
all.  For  when  conflict  ceases,  and  those  who  could  and 
should  be  great  spend  their  time  chasing  butterflies  among 
the  fountains,  there  comes  miasma  and  their  doom.  Mercy? 
V6 


182 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


I. 


Mercy?  Xo,  no  :  for  none  but  tlic  poor  and  sick  and  over- 
ridden, in  time  of  peace ;  in  time  of  war,  mercy  for  none, 
pity  nowhere,  till  the  joybells  ring  the  great  man  home." 

"  But  mercy  to  women  always,"  said  I,  "  in  war  or 
peace." 

lie  withdrew  his  eyes  as  if  from  a  distant  prospect, 
and  they  dropped  to  the  stove,  where  I  had  corn  parch- 
ing, lie  nodded,  as  if  amused,  but  did  not  answer  at  once, 
and  taking  from  my  hand  the  feather  with  which  I  stirred 
the  corn,  softly  whisked  some  olf  for  liimself,  and  smiled 
at  the  remaining  kernels  as  they  danced  upon  the  hot  iron. 
After  a  little  while  he  said,  "Women?  Women  should 
have  all  that  men  can  give  them.  Beautiful  things  should 
adorn  tliem;  no  man  should  set  his  hand  in  cruelty  on 
a  woman — after  she  is  his.  Before — before?  Woman  is 
wilful,  and  sometimes  we  wring  her  heart  that  we  may 
afterwards  comfort  it." 

"  Your  views  have  somewhat  changed,"  I  answered. 
"  I  mind  when  you  talked  less  sweetly." 

He  shrugged  a  shoulder.  "  That  man  is  lost  who  keeps 
one  mind  concerning  woman.  I  will  trust  the  chastity  of 
no  woman,  yet  1  will  trust  her  virtue — if  1  have  her  heart. 
They  are  a  foolish  tribe,  and  all  are  vulnerable  in  their 
vanity.  They  are  of  consecjucnce  to  man,  but  of  no  con- 
sequence in  state  matters.  When  they  meddle  there  we 
have  La  Pompadour  and  war  with  England,  and  Captain 
Moray  in  the  Bastile  of  New  France." 

"  You  come  from  a  court,  monsieur,  which  believes  in 
nothing,  not  even  in  itself." 

"  1  come  from  a  court,"  he  rejoined,  "  which  has  made 
a  gospel  of  artifice,  of  frivolity  a  creed ;  buying  the  toys 
for  folly  with  the  savings  of  the  poor.  His  most  Christian 
Majesty  has  set  the  fashion  of  continual  silliness  and  uni- 
versal love,  lie  begets  children  in  the  peasant's  oven  and 
in  the  chamber  of  Charlemagne  alike.     And  we  are  all 


IN  THE  CHAMBER  OF  TORTURE. 


183 


md  over- 

for  none, 

homo." 

u  war  or 

prospect, 
•n  parcli- 
r  ut  once, 

I  stirred 
id  smiled 

hot  iron, 
(n  should 
gs  should 
ruelty  on 
tV^oman  is 
;  we  may 

inswered. 

v'ho  keeps 
liastity  of 
ler  heart, 
in  their 
ir  no  con- 
there  we 
1  Captain 

lelieves  in 

has  made 
the  toys 

Chiistian 
and  uni- 

oven  and 

iQ  are  all 


good  subjects  of  the  King.  "We  are  brilliant,  exquisite, 
brave,  and  naughty ;  and  for  us  there  is  no  to-morrow." 

"  Nor  for  France,"  I  suggested. 

He  laughed,  as  he  rolled  a  kernel  of  parched  corn  on 
his  tongue.  "  Tut,  tut !  that  is  another  thiug.  We  are 
the  fashion  of  an  hour,  but  France  is  a  fact  as  stubborn 
as  the  natures  of  you  English ;  for  beyond  stubbornness 
and  your  Shakespeare  you  have  little.  Down  among  the 
moles,  in  the  peasants'  huts,  the  spirit  of  France  never 
changes — it  is  always  the  same ;  it  is  for  all  time.  You 
English,  nor  all  others,  you  can  not  blow  out  that  candle 
which  is  the  spirit  of  France.  I  remember  the  Abbe 
Bobon  preaching  once  upon  the  words,  '  The  si)irit  of  man 
is  the  candle  of  the  Lord ' ;  well,  the  spirit  of  France  is 
the  'jandle  of  Europe,  and  you  English  will  be  its  screen 
against  the  blowing  out,  though  in  spasms  of  stupidity 
you  flaunt  the  extinguisher.  You — you  have  no  imagina- 
tion, no  passion,  no  temperament,  no  poetry.  Yet  I  am 
wrong.     The  one  thing  you  have " 

He  broke  off,  nodding  his  head  in  amusement.  "  Yes, 
you  have,  but  it  is  a  secret.  You  English  are  the  true 
lovers,  we  French  the  true  poets ;  and  I  will  tell  you  why. 
You  are  a  race  of  comrades,  the  French,  of  gentlemen  ;  you 
cleave  to  a  thing,  we  to  an  idea ;  you  love  a  woman  best  when 
she  is  near,  we  when  she  is  away ;  you  make  a  romance  of 
marriage,  we  of  intrigue  ;  you  feed  upon  yourselves,  we 
upon  the  world ;  you  have  fever  in  your  blood,  we  in  our 
brains ;  you  believe  the  world  was  made  in  seven  days,  we 
have  no  God  ;  you  would  fight  for  the  seven  days,  we  would 
tight  for  the  danseuse  on  a  bonbon  box.  The  world  will 
say  '  tie  ! '  at  us  and  love  us ;  it  will  respect  you  and  hate 
you.     That  is  the  law  and  the  gospel,"  he  added,  smiling. 

"  Perfect  respect  casteth  out  love,"  said  I  ironically. 

He  waved  his  tingers  in  approval.  "  ]5y  the  Lord,  but 
you  are  pungent  now  and  then  ! "  he  answered  ;  "  cabined 


1S4 


TOE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


here  you  are  less  material.  By  tlie  time  you  are  chastened 
unto  heaven  you  will  be  too  companionable  to  lose." 

"  When  is  that  hour  of  completed  chastening  V"  I 
asked. 

"  Never,"  he  said,  ''  if  you  will  oblige  me  with  those 
letters." 

"For  a  man  of  genius  you  discern  but  slowly,"  re- 
torted I. 

"Discern  your  amazing  stubl)ornness?"  he  asked. 
"  Why  should  you  play  at  martyr,  when  your  talent  is 
commercial  ?  You  have  no  gifts  for  martyrdoTu  but 
wooden  tenacitv.  l*shaw  I  the  leech  has  that.  You  mis- 
take  your  calling." 

"And  you  yours,"  1  answered.  "This  is  a  poor  game 
you  play,  and  losing  it  you  lose  all.  La  Pompadour  will 
pay  accoruing  to  the  goods  you  bring." 

lie  answered  with  an  amusing  candor:  "Why,  yes, 
you  are  partly  in  the  right.  But  when  La  Pompadour 
and  I  come  to  our  linal  reckoning,  when  it  is  a  question 
wdio  can  topple  ruins  round  the  King  quickest,  his  mis- 
tress or  his  '  cousin,'  there  will  be  talcs  to  tell." 

He  got  up,  and  w^alked  to  and  fro  in  the  cell,  musing, 
and  his  face  grew  darker  and  darker.  "  Your  Monmouth 
was  a  fool,"  he  said,  "lie  struck  from  the  boundaries ; 
the  blow  should  fall  in  the  verv  chambers  of  the  Kiuff." 
lie  put  a  finger  musingly  u])on  his  lip.  "I  see — I  see 
how  it  could  be  done.  Full  of  danger,  ])ut  brilliant,  bril- 
liant and  bold!  Yes,  ves  .  .  .  yes!"  Then  all  at  once 
he  seemed  to  come  out  of  a  dream,  ami  laughed  ironically. 
"There  it  is,"  he  said;  "there  is  mv  case.  I  have  the 
idea,  but  I  will  not  strike;  it  is  not  worth  the  doing  un- 
less I'm  driven  to  it.  We  are  brave  emnigh,  we  idlers," 
he  went  on;  "we  ('■'e  with  an  air — all  artilice,  artifice! 
.  .  .  Yet  of  late  T  have  had  dreams.  Now  that  is  not 
well.     It  is  foolish  to  dream,  and  I  had  long  since  ceased 


IN  THE  CHAMBER  OF  TORTURE. 


185 


chastened 


se. 


?> 


iiing?"   I 


itli  those 

)\vlv,"  re- 

10   asked. 

talent  is 

doTu    bnt 

You  mis- 


loor  game 
-dour  will 


viiy,  yes, 

)mpadour 
.  question 
,  his  mis- 

,  musing, 
onmoutli 
iindaries ; 
le  Kiii<]:." 
lee — I  see 
ant,  bril- 
l  at  once 
ronically. 
liave  tlie 
loing  un- 
3  idlers," 
artifice  I 
at  is  not 
ce  ceased 


to  do  so.     But  somehow  all  the  mad  fancies  of  my  youth 

come  back.     This  dream  will  go,  it  will  not  last;  it  is 

my  fate,  my  doom,"  he  added  lightly,  "or  what  you 
will ! " 

I  knew,  alas,  too  well  where  his  thou^dits  were  hanir- 
iiig,  and  I  loathed  him  anew ;  for,  as  he  hinted,  his  was 
a  passion,  not  a  deep,  abiding  love,  llis  will  was  not 
stronger  than  the  general  turpitude  of  his  nature.  As  if 
he  had  divined  my  thought,  he  said,  "My  will  is  stronger 
than  any  passion  tliat  1  have ;  I  can  never  plead  weakness 
in  the  day  of  my  judgment.  I  am  deliberate.  When  I 
clioose  evil  it  is  because  I  love  it.  I  could  be  an  anchor- 
ite ;  I  am,  as  I  said — what  you  will." 

"  You  are  a  conscienceless  villain,  nionsieur." 

"  Who  salves  not  his  soul,"  lie  added,  with  a  dry  smile, 
"  who  will  play  his  game  out  as  he  began;  who  repents 
nor  ever  will  repent  of  anything ;  who  sees  for  him  and  you 
some  interesting  moments  yet.  Let  me  make  one  now," 
and  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  packet,  lie  smiled  hate- 
fully as  he  handed  it  to  me,  and  said, "  Some  books  which 
monsieur  once  lent  ^[ademoiselle  Duvarney — ])oems,  I 
believe.  Mademoiselle  found  them  yesterday,  and  desired 
me  to  fetch  them  to  vou ;  and  I  obliged  her.  I  had  the 
])leasure  of  glancing  through  the  books  before  she  rolled 
them  up.  She  bade  me  say  that  monsieur  migjit  find 
them  useful  in  his  captivity.  She  has  a  tender  heart — 
even  to  the  worst  of  criminals." 

I  felt  a  strange  churnnig  in  my  throat,  but  with  com- 
posure I  took  the  books,  and  said,  "  Mademoiselle  Duvar- 
ney chooses  distinguished  messengers." 

"  It  is  a  distinction  to  aid  her  in  her  charities,"  he 
replied. 

1  could  not  at  all  conceive  what  was  meant.  The 
packet  hung  in  my  hands  like  lead.  There  was  a  mystery 
I  could  not  solve.     1  would  not  for  an  instant  think  what 


•2 

I 


'  \t 


■  111 


186 


THE  SEATS  OP  THE  MIGHTY. 


ho  meant  to  convey  by  a  look — that  her  choice  of  him  to 
carry  back  my  gift  to  her  was  a  final  repulse  of  past 
advances  I  had  made  to  her,  a  corrective  to  my  romantic 
memories.  I  would  not  believe  that,  not  for  one  fleeting 
second.  Perha])s,  I  said  to  myself,  it  was  a  ruse  of  this 
scoundrel,  l^ut  again,  I  put  that  from  me,  for  I  did  not 
think  he  would  stoop  to  little  meannesses,  no  matter  how 
vile  he  was  in  great  things.  I  assumed  indifference  to  the 
matter,  laying  the  packet  down  upon  my  couch,  and  say- 
ing to  him,  "  You  will  convey  my  thanks  to  Mademoiselle 
Duvarney  for  these  books,  whose  chief  value  lies  in  the 
honourable  housing  they  have  had." 

lie  smiled  provokingly ;  no  doubt  he  was  thinking 
that  my  studied  compliment  smelt  of  the  oil  of  solitude. 
"And  add — shall  I — your  compliinents  that  they  should 
have  their  airing  at  the  hands  of  Monsieur  Doltaire  ?  " 

"  I  shall  pay  those  compliments  to  Monsieur  Doltaire 
him  soli  one  day,"  I  replied. 

lie  waved  his  Angers.  "  The  sentiments  of  one  of  the 
poems  were  commendable,  fanciful.  I  remember  it" — he 
put  a  flnger  to  his  lip— "let  me  see."  He  stepped  towards 
the  packet,  but  I  made  a  sign  of  interference — how  grate- 
ful was  I  of  this  afterwards! — and  he  drew  back  courte- 
ously. "Ah  well,"  he  said,  "I  have  a  fair  memory;  I 
can,  I  think,  recall  the  morsel.  It  impressed  me.  I 
could  not  think  the  author  an  Englishman.  It  runs 
thus,"  and  with  adnurable  grace  he  recited  the  words : 


"  0  flower  of  all  tlio  world,  0  flower  of  all  ! 
The  gai'den  where  thou  dwellcst  is  so  fair, 
Thou  ,irt  so  piodjy,  and  so  qiieoidy  tall, 

Thy  sweetn(>ss  scatters  sweetness  everywhere, 
0  flower  of  all ! 

"  0  flower  of  all  the  years.  O  flower  of  all ! 
A  dav  beside  thee  is  a  dav  of  davs : 
Thy  voice  is  softer  than  the  throstle's  call, 


f  liim  to 
of  past 
romantic 
3  fleeting 
e  of  tliis 
[  (lid  not 
tter  how 
ce  to  the 
and  say- 
3moiselle 
s  in  the 

thinking 
solitude. 
y  should 
re  ?  " 
Doltaire 

le  of  the 

it  "—he 

towards 

w  grate- 

L  courte- 

mory ;    I 

me.      I 

It  runs 

)rds : 


0, 


IN  THE  CHAMBER  OF  TORTURE.  187 

There  is  not  son^f  enouf^h  to  sing  thy  praise, 
0  flower  of  all ! 

♦'  0  flower  of  all  the  years,  0  flower  of  all ! 
1  seek  thee  in  thy  garden,  and  I  dare 
To  love  thee  ;  and  liuMigh  my  deserts  be  small, 
Thou  art  the  only  flower  I  would  wear, 
0  flower  of  all ! " 

"  Now  that,"  he  said,  "  is  the  romantic,  almost  the  Ar- 
cadian, spirit.  We  have  lost  it,  but  it  lingers  like  some 
good  scent  in  the  folds  of  lace.  It  is  also  but  artifice,  yet 
so  is  the  lingering  perfume.  When  it  hung  in  the  flower 
it  was  lost  after  a  day's  life,  but  when  gathered  and  dis- 
tilled into  an  essence  it  becomes,  through  artilice,  an 
abiding  sweetness.  So  with  your  song  there.  It  is  the 
spirit  of  devotion,  gathered,  it  may  be,  from  a  thousand 
flowers,  and  made  into  an  essence,  which  is  offered  to  one 
oidy.  It  is  not  the  worship  of  this  one,  but  the  worship 
of  a  thousand  distilled  at  last  to  one  delicate  liturgy.  So 
much  for  sentiment,"  he  continued.  "Upon  my  soul, 
Captain  Moray,  you  are  a  boon.  I  love  to  have  you  caged. 
I  shall  watch  your  distressed  career  to  its  close  with  deep 
scrutiny.  You  and  I  are  wholly  different,  but  you  are 
interesting.  You  never  could  be  great.  Pardon  the  ego- 
tism, but  it  is  truth.  Your  brain  works  heavily,  you  are 
too  tenacious  of  your  conscience,  you  are  a  blunderer. 
You  will  always  sow,  and  others  will  reap." 

I  waved  my  hand  in  deprecation,  for  I  was  in  no  mood 
for  further  talk,  and  I  made  no  answer.  He  smiled  at 
me,  and  said,  "  Well,  since  you  doubt  my  theories,  let  us 
come,  as  your  Shakespeare  says,  to  Hecuba.  ...  If  you 
will  accompany  me,"  he  added,  as  he  opened  my  cell  door 
and  motioned  me  courteously  to  go  outside.  I  drew  back, 
and  he  said,  "  There  is  no  need  to  hesitate  ;  I  go  to  show 
you  only  what  will  interest  you." 

We  passed  in  silence  through  the  corridors,  two  senti- 


188 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


nels  attending,  and  at  last  came  into  a  large  square  room, 
wherein  stood  three  men  with  hands  tied  over  their  heads 
against  the  wall,  their  faces  twitching  with  pain.  J  drew 
back  in  astonishment,  for,  standing  before  them,  were  (Ja- 
bord  and  another  soldier.  Doltaire  ordered  from  the  room 
the  soldier  and  my  two  sentinels,  and  motioned  me  to  one 
of  two  chairs  set  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

Presently  his  face  became  hard  and  cruel,  and  he  said 
to  the  tortured  prisoners,  "  You  will  need  to  speak  the 
truth,  and  promptly.  I  have  an  order  to  do  with  you  what 
I  will.  Hear  me.  Three  nights  ago,  as  Mademoiselle 
Duvarney  was  returning  from  the  house  of  a  friend  beside 
the  Intendance,  she  was  set  upon  by  you.  A  cloak  was 
thrown  over  her  head,  she  was  carried  to  a  carriage,  where 
two  of  you  got  inside  with  her.  Some  gentlemen  aiul  my- 
self were  coming  that  way.  We  heard  the  lady's  cries, 
and  two  gave  chase  to  the  carriage,  while  one  followed 
the  others.  By  the  help  of  soldier  (Jabord  here  you  all 
were  captured.  You  have  hung  where  you  are  for  two 
days,  and  now  I  shall  have  you  whipped.  When  that  is 
done,  you  shall  tell  your  story.  If  you  do  not  speak  truth, 
you  shall  be  whipped  again,  and  then  hung.  Ladies  shall 
have  safety  from  rogues  like  you." 

Alixc's  danger  told  in  these  coiumsc  words  made  me,  I 
am  sure,  turn  pale  ;  but  Doltaire  did  not  see  it,  he  was  en- 
gaged with  the  prisoners.  As  I  thought  and  wondered 
four  soldiers  were  brought  in,  and  the  men  were  made 
ready  for  the  lash.  In  vain  they  pleaded  they  would  tell 
their  story  at  once.  Doltaire  would  not  listen  ;  the  whip- 
ping first,  and  their  story  after.  Soon  their  backs  were 
bared,  their  faces  were  turned  to  the  wall,  and,  as  (Jabord 
with  harsh  voice  counted,  the  lashes  were  mercilessly  laid 
on.  There  was  a  horrible  fascination  in  watching  the  skin 
corrugate  under  the  cords,  rippling  away  in  red  and  pur- 
ple blotches,  the  grooves  in  the  llesh  crossing  and  recross- 


IN  THE  CHAMBER  OF  TORTURE. 


189 


room, 


ing,  the  raw  misery  spreading  from  tlie  hips  to  the  shoul- 
ders. Now  and  again  Doltaire  drew  out  a  box  and  took  a 
pinch  of  anuif,  and  once,  coolly  and  curiously,  he  walked 
up  to  the  most  stalwart  ])risoner  and  felt  his  pulse,  then 
to  the  weakest,  whose  limbs  and  body  had  stilTcned  as 
though  dead.  ^^  Xint'ty-seven !  Xinely-eiyht !  Xi/irl//- 
niuel  "  growled  Gabord,  and  then  came  Doltaire's  voice: 

"  Stop  !     Now  fetch  some  brandy." 

The  prisoners  were  loosened,  and  Doltaire  spoke  sharp- 
ly to  a  soldier  who  was  roughly  pulling  one  num's  shirt 
over  the  excoriated  back.  Hnmdy  was  given  by  (labord, 
and  the  prisoners  stood,  a  most  pitiful  sight,  the  weakest 
livid. 

"  Now  tell  your  story,"  said  Doltaire  to  this  last. 

The  man,  witli  broken  voice  and  breath  catching,  said 
that  they  had  erred.  They  had  been  hired  to  kidnap  Ma- 
dame Cournal,  not  Mademoiselle  Duvarney. 

Doltidre's  eyes  Hashed.  "  I  see,  I  see,"  he  said  aside  to 
me.     "  The  wretch  speaks  truth." 

"  Who  was  your  master  V  "  ho  asked  of  the  sturdiest  of 
the  villains ;  and  he  was  told  that  Monsieur  Cournal  had 
engaged  them.  To  the  question  what  was  to  be  done  with 
Madame  Cournal,  another  answered  that  she  was  to  be 
waylaid  as  she  was  coming  from  the  Intendance,  kid- 
napped, and  hurried  to  a  nunnery,  there  to  be  imprisoned 
for  life. 

Doltaire  sat  for  a  moment,  looking  at  the  men  in 
silence.  "  You  are  not  to  hang,"  he  said  at  last ;  "  but 
ten  days  hence,  when  you  have  had  one  hundred  lashes 
more,  you  shall  go  free.  Fifty  for  you,"  he  continued  to 
the  weakest,  who  had  first  told  the  story. 

"  Xot  fifty,  nor  one  !  "  was  the  shrill  reply,  and,  being 
nnbound,  the  prisoner  snatched  something  from  a  bench 
near,  there  was  a  flash  of  steel,  and  he  came  huddling  in 
a  heap  on  the  floor,  muttering  a  malediction  on  the  world. 


190 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


"  Tlicro  was  some  bravery  in  that,"  said  Doltaire,  look- 
iiisx  at  the  dead  man.  "If  lie  lias  friends,  hand  over  the 
body  to  tliem.  This  matter  niiist  not  be  spoken  of— ut 
your  peril,"  he  added  sternly.  "  (iive  them  food  and 
brandy." 

Then  he  aceompanied  me  to  my  cell,  and  opened  the 
door.  I  passed  in,  and  he  was  about  going  without  a  word, 
when  on  a  sudden  his  old  nonchalance  came  back,  and  he 
said : 

"  I  promised  you  a  matter  of  interest.  You  have  had 
it.  Gather  philosophy  from  this  :  you  may  with  impunity 
buy  anything  from  a  knave  and  fool  except  his  nuptial 
bed.     He  throws  the  money  in  your  face  some  day." 

So  saying  he  plunged  in  thought  again,  and  left  me. 


XVI. 


BE   SAIXT   OR    IMP. 


Immediately  I  opened  the  packet.  As  Doltaire  had 
said,  the  two  books  of  poems  I  had  lent  Alixe  were  there, 
and  between  the  i)ages  of  one  lay  a  letter  addressed  to 
me.  It  was,  indeed,  a  daring  thing  to  make  Doltaire 
her  messenger.  But  she  trusted  to  his  habits  of  cour- 
tesy; he  had  no  small  meannesses — he  was  no  spy  or 
thief. 


Dear  Robert  (the  letter  ran):  I  know  not  if  this 
will  ever  reach  you,  for  I  am  about  to  try  a  perilous  thing, 
even  to  make  Monsieur  Doltaire  mv  letter-carrier.  Bold 
as  it  is,  I  hope  to  bring  it  through  safely. 

You  must  know  that  mv  mother  now  makes  Monsieur 
Doltaire  welcome  to  our  home,  for  his  great  talents  and 
persuasion  have  so  worked  upon  her  that  she  believes  him 


BE  SAINT  OR  IMP. 


191 


re,  look- 
)ver  tho 
1  of— at 
od  and 

ned  the 

a  word, 

,  and  he 

ave  had 

npunity 

nuptial 

ft  me. 


lire  had 
'e  there, 
3ssed  to 
Doltaire 
)f  cour- 
spy  or 


if  this 
s  thing, 
".     Bold 

[onsieiir 
nts  and 
ves  him 


not  so  black  as  he  is  painted.  My  fatlier,  too,  is  not  un- 
moved by  his  amazing  address  and  comphiisanee.  I  do 
not  think  ho  often  cares  to  use  his  arts — he  is  too  indo- 
lent; but  with  my  father,  my  mother,  and  my  sister  he 
has  set  in  motion  all  his  resources. 

Ilobert,  all  Versailles  is  here.  This  ^lonsieur  Doltaire 
speaks  for  it.  I  know  not  if  every  court  in  tlie  world  is 
the  same,  but  if  so,  I  am  at  heart  no  courtier;  thouirh 
I  love  the  sparkle,  the  sharp  i)lay  of  wit  and  word,  tlie 
very  touch-and-go  of  weapons.  I  am  in  love  with  life, 
and  I  wish  to  live  to  be  old,  very  old,  tluit  I  will  have 
known  it  all,  from  helplessness  to  helplessness  again,  miss- 
ing notliing,  even  though  much  be  sad  to  feel  and  bear. 
Robert,  I  should  have  gone  on  many  years,  seeing  little, 
knowing  little,  I  think,  if  it  liad  not  been  for  you  and  for 
your  troubles,  which  are  mine,  and  for  this  love  of  ours, 
cherished  in  the  midst  of  sorrows.  Georgette  is  now  as 
old  as  when  I  first  came  to  love  you,  and  you  were  thrown 
into  the  citadel,  and  yet,  in  feeling  and  experience,  I  am 
ten  years  older  than  she ;  and  necessity  has  made  me 
wiser.  Ah,  if  necessity  would  but  make  me  happy  too, 
by  giving  you  your  liberty,  that  on  these  many  miseries 
endured  we  might  set  up  a  sure  home !  I  wonder  if  you 
think — if  you  think  of  that :  a  little  home  away  from  aW 
these  wars,  aloof  from  vexins]:  thinjxs. 

liut  there  !  all  too  plainly  I  am  showing  you  my  heart. 
Yet  it  is  so  good  a  comfort  to  speak  on  paper  to  you,  in 
this  silence  here.  Can  you  guess  where  is  that  here,  Eob- 
ert?  It  is  not  the  Clniteau  St.  Louis — no.  It  is  not  the 
manor.  It  is  the  chateau,  dear  Chateau  Alixe  —  my 
father  has  called  it  that — on  the  island  of  Orleans.  Three 
days  ago  I  was  sick  at  heart,  tired  of  all  the  junketings 
and  feastings,  and  I  begged  my  mother  to  fetch  me  here, 
though  it  is  yet  but  early  spring,  and  snow  is  on  the 
ground. 


192 


TIIK   SKATS  OF  TllH   MIGHTY. 


First,  vou  must  know  that  this  new  chateau  is  built 
u])on,  and  is  joined  to,  tlic  ruins  of  an  old  one,  owned  long 
yijars  jil,^)  by  the  liaron  of  l»eau;j;ard,  whose  strange  history 
you  must  learn  some  day,  out  of  the  pajters  we  have  found 
here.  I  bcirgi-d  my  fallu'r  not  to  tear  the  old  portions  of 
the  manor  down,  but,  using  the  llrst  foundations,  put  up 
a  house  hall'  eastlc  aiul  half  numor.  Pictures  of  the  old 
manor  were  found,  and  so  we  have  a  place  that  is  no 
patchwork,  but  a  renewal.  I  made  my  father  give  me  the 
old  surviving  part  of  the  building  for  my  own,  and  so  it  is. 

It  is  all  set  on  high  ground  abutting  on  the  water 
almost  at  the  point  where  I  am,  and  1  have  the  river  in 
my  sight  all  day.  Now,  think  youi'sclf  in  the  new  build- 
ing. You  come  out  of  a  dining-hall,  huug  all  about  with 
horns  and  weapons  and  shields  and  such  bravery,  go 
through  a  dark,  narrow  i)assage,  and  then  down  a  step  or 
two.  You  open  a  door,  bright  light  breaks  on  your  eyes, 
then  two  stc})s  lower,  and  you  are  here  with  me.  You 
might  have  gone  outside  the  dining-hall  u})on  a  stone 
terrace,  and  so  have  come  along  to  the  deep  wimlow  where 
I  sit  so  often.  You  nniy  thiidv  of  me  hiding  in  the  cur- 
tains, watching  you,  though  you  knew  it  not  till  you 
touched  the  window  and  I  came  out  quietly,  startling  you, 
so  that  your  heart  would  beat  beyond  counting! 

As  I  look  up  towards  the  window,  the  thing  first  in 
sight  is  tlie  cag(\  with  the  little  bird  which  came  to  me  in 
the  cathedral  the  morning  my  brother  got  lease  of  life 
a2:ain  :  vou  do  vemember — is  it  not  so  ?  It  never  goes  from 
my  room,  and  though  I  lune  come  here  but  for  a  week  I 
mufTled  the  cage  well  and  brought  it  over;  and  there  the 
bird  swings  and  sings  the  long  day  through.  I  have 
heaped  the  window-seats  with  soft  furs,  aiul  one  of  these 
I  prize  most  rarely.  It  was  a  gift — aiul  whose,  think  you? 
Even  a  poor  soldier's.  You  see  I  have  not  all  friends 
among  the  great  folk.     I  often  lie  upon  that  soft  robe  of 


BE  SAINT  OR  IMP. 


193 


atiblo — ay,  aublo,  Muster  Uoljort — uiul  think  of  him  who 
^uve  it  to  me.  Now  I  know  you  jiro  jcjdous,  jind  I  ciiii 
see  your  eyt's  llu.sh  u}).  Uut  you  shall  ut  oiici!  bo  soothcil. 
It  is  110  other  tiiun  (ijibord's  <^nft.  lie  is  now  of  the  (Jov- 
cnior'd  boily-i^Uiii'd,  and  I  think  is  by  no  means  happy, 
and  wouhl  [)i'efor  service  with  the  Mar(|uis  de  Montcalm, 
who  goes  not  comfortuljly  with  tlu*  Intendant  and  the 
(Jovernor. 

One  day  rjabord  came  to  our  liousc  on  the  ramparts, 
and,  askin,i,'  for  nu^,  blundered  out,  "Alio,  wliat  shall  a 
soldier  (h)  with  sabk^s?  They  are  for  <,a'ntles  ami  for 
wrens  to  snu,i]:<,de  in.  Here  (!omes  a  Russian  count  over- 
sea, and  goes  mad  in  tavern.  Hero  comes  (Jal)ord,  and 
saves  count  from  ruddy  cr(!st  for  kissing  tlie  wrong 
vven(di.  Then  count  falls  on  (iabord's  ne(;k,  and  kisses 
both  Ids  cars,  and  gives  him  sables,  and  crosses  oversea 
a"fain ;  and  so  good-bve  to  count  and  his  foolerv.  And 
sables  shall  be  ma'm'selle's,  if  slie  will  have  them."  He 
might  have  sold  the  thing  for  many  louis,  aiul  yet  lio 
brought  it  to  mc;  and  he  would  not  go  till  he  had  seen 
me  sitting  on  it,  mullling  my  hands  and  face  in  the 
soft  fur. 

Just  now,  as  I  am  writing,  I  glan(?e  at  the  table  where 
I  sit — a  small  brown  table  of  oak,  (iarved  with  the  name  of 
Feliso,  Baroness  of  Beaugard.  She  sat  liere ;  and  some 
dav,  when  vou  hear  her  storv,  von  will  know  whv  I  begged 
Madame  fjotbiniere  to  give  it  to  mc  in  excliange  for  an- 
other, once  the  King's.  Carved,  too,  beneath  her  name, 
are  the  words,  "0  farri/  thou  tJie  Lord's  lei.snrey 

And  now  you  shall  laugh  with  me  at  a  droll  thing 
Georgette  has  given  me  to  wipe  my  i)en  upon.  There  are 
three  little  circles  of  deerskin  and  one  of  ruby  velvet, 
stitched  together  in  the  centre.  Then,  standing  on  the 
velvet  is  a  yellow  wooden  chick,  with  little  eyes  of  beads, 
and  a  little  wooden  bill  stuck  in  most  quaintly,  and  a 


104 


TIIH  SKATS  OF  TIIM   MKIIITY. 


hojid  that  twists  like  :i  wciitluM-cock.  It  has  siicli  a  piquant 
silliness  of  look  that  1  laugh  at  it  most  heartily,  and  1 
liavo  an  almost  ellish  fun  in  smoarinjjj  its  downy  feathers. 
1  am  sure  you  ilid  "not  think  I  could  bo  amused  so  easfly. 
You  shall  see  this  silly  ••hick  one  day,  humorously  ugly 
and  all  dauhcd  with  ink. 

'i'heru  is  a  low  couch  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  and 
just  above  hangs  a  plctui'i'  of  my  mother.  In  another 
corner  is  a  little  shelf  of  books,  among  them  two  which  I 
liavo  studied  constantly  since  you  wei-e  i)ut  in  prison — 
your  great  Sliakespeai'c,  and  tlu;  writings  of  one  Mr. 
Addison.  J  had  few  means  of  studying  at  lii'st,  so  dilli- 
cult  it  seemed,  and  all  the  words  sounded  hard  ;  but  there 
is  here,  as  vou  know,  vour  counti'vman,  one  Lieuteiumt 
Stevens  of  Kogers's  Uangers,  a  pi'isoner,  ami  he  has  helped 
me,  and  is  ready  to  help  you  when  the  time  comes  for 
stirring.  J  teaeh  him  i-'rench ;  and  though  I  do  not  talk 
of  you,  he  tells  me  in  what  esteem  you  are  hehl  in  Vir- 
ginia and  in  J'higland,  and  is  not  slow  to  praise  you  on 
Ins  own  account,  which  makes  me  more  forgiving  when 
lie  would  come  to  sentiment ! 

In  another  corner  is  my  spinning-wheel,  and  there 
stands  a  harjisichord,  just  where  the  soft  sun  sends  in 
a  ribbon  of  light;  and  I  will  presently  play  for  you 
'a  pretty  sonir.  I  wonder  if  you  can  hear  it?  Where 
I  shall  sit  at  the  harpsichord  the  belt  of  sunlight  will  fall 
across  my  shoulder,  and,  looking  through  the  window,  I 
shall  see  your  ])rison  there  on  the  Heights;  the  silver 
fhig  with  its  gold  lilies  on  the  Chateau  8t.  Louis;  the 
great  guns  of  the  citadel ;  and  far  off  at  Beauport  the 
]\Ianor  House  and  garden  which  you  and  I  know  so  well, 
and  the  Falls  of  ]\Iontmorenci,  falling  like  white  flowing 
liair  from  the  tall  clilf. 

You  will  care  to  know  of  how  these  months  luive  been 
spent,  and  wluit  news  of  note  there  is  of  the  fighting  be- 


,  utul  1 
.Mithcrs. 
)  oasi'ly. 
ily  u-ly 

)ni,  and 
[iiu)lli«jr 
wliii'li  I 
n'isoii — 
►no  Mr. 
so  (li Hi- 
nt there 
utontmt 
s  li(.'ll)ed 
nii'rf  for 
lot  tulk 
in  \'ir- 
yoii  on 
ig  when 

d  there 

ends  in 

for  you 

W  lie  re 

will  fall 

indovv,  I 

He  silver 

Ills;  the 

)ort  the 

so  well, 

flowing 

ive  been 
iting  be- 


'■^  ■,-,■  '     •'I       •      V 


'M: 


•a 


=:; 


^ 

o 


BE  SAINT  OR  IMP. 


195 


tween  our  countries.  No  matters  of  great  consequence 
have  come  to  our  ears,  save  that  it  is  thought  your  navy 
may  descend  on  Louisburg ;  that  Ticonderoga  is  also  to 
be  set  upon,  and  Quebec  to  bo  besieged  in  the  coming 
summer.  From  France  the  news  is  various.  Now,  Fred- 
erick of  Prussia  and  England  defeat  the  allies,  France, 
Kussia,  and  Austria ;  now,  they,  as  Monsieur  Doltaire  says, 
"  send  the  great  Prussian  to  verses  and  the  megrims." 
For  my  own  part,  I  am  ever  glad  to  hear  that  our  cause  is 
victorious,  and  letters  that  my  brother  writes  me  rouse  all 
my  ardour  for  my  country.  Juste  has  grown  in  place  and 
favour,  and  in  his  latest  letter  he  says  that  ]\Ionsieur  Dol- 
taire's  voice  has  got  him  much  advancement.  He  also  re- 
marks tliat  Monsieur  Doltaire  has  reputation  for  being  one 
of  the  most  reckless,  clever,  and  cynical  men  in  France. 
Things  that  he  has  said  are  quoted  at  ball  and  rout.  Yet 
the  King  is  angry  with  him,  and  La  Pompadour's  caprice 
may  send  him  again  to  the  Bastile.  These  things  Juste 
heard  from  D'Argenson,  Minister  of  War,  through  his 
secretary,  with  whom  he  is  friendly. 

I  will  now  do  what  I  never  thought  to  do :  I  will 
send  you  here  some  extracts  from  my  journal,  which  will 
disclose  to  vou  the  secrets  of  a  girl's  troubled  heart. 
Some  folk  might  say  that  I  am  unmaidenly  in  this.  But 
I  care  not,  I  fear  not. 


Decemher  QJf.  I  was  with  Robert  to-day.  I  let  him 
see  what  trials  I  had  had  with  Monsieur  Doltaire,  and 
what  were  like  to  come.  It  hurt  me  to  tell  him,  yet  it 
would  have  hurt  me  more  to  withhold  them.  I  am  hurt 
whichever  way  it  goes.  Monsieur  Doltaire  rouses  the 
worst  parts  of  me.  On  the  one  hand  I  detest  him  for  his 
hatred  of  Robert,  and  for  liis  evil  life,  yet  on  the  other  I 
must  needs  admire  him  for  his  many  graces — why  are  not 
the  graces  of  the  wicked  horrible  ?— for  his  singular  abili- 


196 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


ties,  and  bocaiiso,  gamester  though  he  may  be,  he  is  no 
public  robber.  Then,  too,  the  mehmcholy  of  his  birth  and 
liistory  claim  some  sympatliy.  Sometimes  when  1  listen 
to  him  speak,  hear  the  almost  piquant  sadness  of  his  words, 
watch  the  spirit  of  isolation  which,  by  design  or  other- 
wise, shows  in  him,  for  the  moment  1  am  conscious  of  a 
])ity  or  an  interest  which  1  flout  in  wiser  hours.  This  is 
his  art,  the  deep  danger  of  his  personality. 

To-night  he  came,  and  with  many  flno  phrases  wished 
us  a  hapi)y  day  to-morrow,  and  most  deftly  worked  upon 
my  motlier  and  (Jcorgette  by  looking  round  and  speaking 
with  a  quaint  sort  of  raillery— half  pensive,  it  was— of  the 
peace  of  this  home-life  of  ours;  and,  indeed,  he  did  it  so 
inimitably  that  I  was  not  sure  how  much  was  false  and 
how  much  true.  I  tried  tv  avoid  him  to-day,  but  my 
mother  constantly  made  private  speech  between  us  easy. 
At  last  he  had  his  way,  and  then  I  was  not  sorry ;  for 
CJeorirette  was  listenius:  to  him  with  more  colour  than  she 
is  wont  to  wear.  1  would  rather  see  her  in  her  o-rave  than 
with  her  hand  in  his,  her  sweet  life  in  his  power.  She  is 
unschooled  in  the  ways  of  the  world,  and  she  never  will 
know  it  as  I  now  do.  llow  am  I  sounding  all  the  depths  ! 
Can  a  woman  walk  the  dance  with  evil,  and  be  no  w^orse 
for  it  bv-aud-bveV  Vet  for  a  cause,  for  a  cause!  What 
can  I  doV  I  can  not  say,  "  ^[onsieur  Doltaire,  you  must 
not  s})eak  with  me,  or  talk  with  me;  you  are  a  ])lague- 
spot."  No,  1  must  even  follow  this  path,  so  it  but  lead  at 
last  to  Uobert  and  his  safety. 

Monsieur,  having  me  alone  at  last,  said  to  me,  "  I  have 
kept  my  word  as  to  the  little  boast :  this  Captain  Moray 
still  lives." 

"  You  are  not  greater  than  I  thought,"  said  I. 

He  professed  to  see  but  one  meaning  in  my  words,  and 
answered,  "  It  was,  then,  mere  whim  to  see  me  do  this 
thing,  a  lady's  curious  mind,  eh  ?     My  faith,  I  think  your 


BE  SAIXT   OR  IMP. 


197 


be  is  no 
irtli  and 

1  listen 
is  words, 
r  other- 
)us  of  a 

This  is 

s  wished 
3d  upon 
;peakiiig 
— of  the 
lid  it  so 
ilse  and 
but  my 
us  easy, 
rry ;  for 
:han  she 
ive  than 
Slie  is 
3ver  will 
depths ! 
10  worse 
!  Wliat 
3n  must 
plague- 
t  lead  at 

"  I  have 
1  Moray 


>rds,  and 

do  this 

nk  your 


i' 


sex  are  the  true  scientists :  you  try  experiment  for  no 
other  reason  than  to  see  ellect." 

"  You  forget  my  deep  interest  in  Captain  Moray,"  said 
I,  with  airy  boldness. 

lie  laughed,  lie  was  disarmed,  llow  could  he  think 
I  meant  it !  "  My  imagination  halts,"  he  rejoined.  ''  Mil- 
lenium comes  when  you  are  interested.  And  yet,"  he 
continued,  "it  is  my  one  ambition  to  interest  you,  and  1 
will  do  it,  or  1  will  say  my  prayers  no  more." 

"  But  how  can  that  be  done  no  moi'e, 
Which  ne'er  was  done  before  V 

1  retorted,  railing  at  him,  for  I  feared  to  take  him  se- 
riously. 

"  There  you  wrong  me,"  he  said.  "  1  am  devout ;  I 
am  a  lover  of  the  Scriptures — their  beauty  haunts  me ;  1 
go  to  mass — its  dignity  affects  me;  and  1  have  prayed,  as 
in  my  youth  1  w^rote  verses.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  mo- 
rality, but  of  temperament.  A  man  may  be  religious  and 
3^et  be  evil.  Satan  fell,  but  he  believed  and  he  admired, 
as  the  Enc^lish  ]\[ilton  wiselv  shows  it." 

1  was  most  ejlad  that  mv  father  came  between  us  at 
that  moment ;  but  before  monsieur  loft,  he  said  to  me, 
"  You  have  challenged  me.  Beware  :  I  have  begun  this 
chase.  Yet  I  would  rather  be  your  follower,  rather  have 
vour  arrow  in  me,  than  be  vour  hunter."  He  said  it  witli 
a  sort  of  warmth,  wliich  I  knew  was  a  glow  in  his  senses 
merely ;  ho  was  heated  with  his  own  eloquence. 

"  Wait,"  returned  I.  "  You  have  heard  the  story  of 
King  Artus  ?  " 

lie  thought  a  moment.  "  Xo,  no.  1  never  was  a  child 
as  other  children.     I  was  always  comrade  to  the  imps." 

"  King  Artus,"  said  I,  "  was  most  fond  of  hunting." 
(It  is  but  a  legend  with  its  moral,  as  you  know.)  "  It  was 
forbidden  by  the  priests  to  hunt  while  mass  was  being  said. 
14 


198 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  JMIGIITY. 


One  day,  at  tlie  lifting  of  the  host,  the  King,  hearing  a 
hound  bay,  rushed  out,  and  gathered  his  i){ick  together- 
but  as  tliey  went,  a  whirlwind  caught  them  up  into  the 
air,  wliere  tliey  continue  to  tliis  (hiy,  following  a  lonely 
trail,  never  resting,  and  all  tlie  game  they  get  is  one  ily 
every  seventh  year.  And  now,  when  all  on  a  sudden  at 
night  you  hear  the  trees  and  leaves  and  the  sleepv  birds 
and  crickets  stir,  it  is  the  old  King  hunting— for  the  fox 
he  never  gets." 

Monsieur  looked  at  me  with  curious  intentness.  "  You 
have  a  great  gift,"  he  said  ;  "  you  nuike  your  i)oint  by  jd- 
lusion.  1  follow  vou.  But  see:  wlicn  I (vii  hlotnt  info  Ute 
air  1  ^ItaJl  nut  ride  (done.  Happiness  is  the  fox  we  ride 
to  cover,  you  and  I,  though  we  hnd  hut  a  firefly  in  the 
end." 

"A  poor  re2)lv,"  I  remarked  easily;  "  not  worthy  of 
you." 

"  As  worthy  as  I  am  of  you,"  lie  rejoined  ;  then  he 
kissed  mv  hand.     "  I  will  see  you  at  nuiss  to-morrow." 

Unconsciously,  I  rubbed  the  hand  he  kissed  with  my 
handkerchief. 

"  I  am  not  to  be  provoked,"  he  said.  "  It  is  much  to 
have  you  treat  my  kiss  with  consequence." 


March  ;?-'>.  Xo  news  of  Robert  all  this  month.  Ga- 
bord  has  been  away  in  ]\rontreal.  I  see  Voban  only  now 
and  then,  and  he  is  strange  in  manner,  and  can  do  noth- 
ing. Mathilde  is  better — so  still  and  desolate,  yet  nut 
wild;  but  her  memory  is  all  gone,  save  for  that  "Fran- 
^'ois  ]>igot  is  a  devil."  ^My  father  has  taken  anew  a  strong 
dislike  to  ^Eonsieur  Doltaire,  because  of  talk  that  is 
abroad  concerning  him  and  ^ladame  Counud.  I  once 
thought  slie  was  much  sinned  ngainst,  but  now  I  am  sure 
she  is  not  to  be  defended.  She  is  most  defiant,  though 
people  dare  not  shut  their  doors  against  her.     A  change 


BE  SAINT  OR  IMP. 


199 


earing  a 
ogothcr ; 
into  the 
a  lonely 
s  one  lly 
Luldeu  at 
?py  birds 
r  the  fox 

3.  "You 
nt  by  al- 
i  in/o  /lie 
X  we  ride 
(ly  in  the 

vorthy  of 

then  lie 
row." 
with  my 

t 

mil  ell  to 


ith.  Ga- 
only  now 
do  iioth- 
yet  not 
it  "Fran- 
V  a  strong 
that  is 
I  once 
I  am  sure 
t,  though 
A  change 


seemed  to  come  over  her  all  at  once,  and  over  her  husband 
also.  He  is  now  gloomy  and  taciturn,  now  foolishly  gay, 
yet  he  is  little  seen  with  the  Intcudant,  as  before.  How- 
ever it  be.  Monsieur  Doltaire  and  Bigot  are  no  longer  in- 
timate. What  should  I  cai'c  for  that,  if  ^lonsieur  Dol- 
taire had  no  power,  if  he  were  not  the  door  between  Robert 
and  me  ?  What  care  I,  indeed,  how  vile  he  is,  so  he  but 
serve  my  purpose  ?  Let  liiin  try  my  heart  and  soul  and 
senses  as  he  will  ;  I  will  one  day  purify  myself  of  his  pres- 
ence and  all  this  soiling,  and  lind  my  peace  in  liobert's 
arms — or  in  the  quiet  of  a  nunnery. 

This  morning  I  got  up  at  sunrise,  it  being  the  iVnnun- 
ciation  of  the  Virgin,  and  })rcpared  to  go  to  mass  in  the 
chapel  of  the  Ursulines.  How  peaceful  was  the  world  ! 
So  still,  so  still.  The  smoke  came  curling  up  here  and 
tliere  through  the  sweet  air  of  spring,  a  snowbird  tripped 
along  the  white  coverlet  of  the  earth,  and  before  a  Cal- 
vary I  saw  a  peasant  kneel  and  say  an  Ave  as  he  went  to 
market.  There  was  springtime  in  the  sun,  in  the  smell 
of  the  air ;  springtime  everywhere  but  in  my  heart,  which 
was  all  winter.  I  seemed  alone — alone — alone.  I  felt  the 
tears  start.  But  that  was  for  a  moment  only,  I  am  glad 
to  say,  for  I  got  my  courage  again,  as  I  did  the  night  be- 
fore when  Monsieur  Doltaire  placed  his  arm  at  my  waist, 
and  poured  into  my  ears  a  torrent  of  protestations  ! 

I  did  not  move  at  lirst.  But  I  could  feel  my  cheeks 
grow  cold,  and  something  clamp  my  heart.  Yet  had  ever 
man  such  hateful  eloquence  !  There  is  that  in  him — oli, 
shame  !  oh,  shame  ! — which  goes  far  with  a  woman.  He 
has  the  music  of  passion,  and  though  it  is  lower  than 
love,  it  is  the  poetry  of  the  senses.  I  spoke  to  him  calm- 
ly, I  think,  begging  him  place  his  merits  where  they 
would  have  better  entertainment ;  but  I  said  hard,  cold 
things  at  last,  when  other  means  availed  not ;  which  pres- 
ently made  him  turn  upon  me  in  another  fashion. 


200 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


His  words  dropped  slowly,  with  a  cousuminute  careful- 
ness, his  manner  was  i^ointedly  courteous,  yet  there  was 
an  underpressure  of  force,  of  will,  which  made  me  see  the 
danger  of  my  position.  He  said  that  I  was  quite  right ; 
that  he  would  wish  no  privilege  of  a  woman  which  was 
not  given  witii  a  frank  eagerness  ;  that  to  him  no  woman 
was  worth  the  having  who  did  not  throw  her  whole  nature 
into  the  giving.  Constancy — that  was  another  matter. 
But  a  perfect  gift  while  there  was  giving  at  all — that  v/as 
the  way. 

"  There  is  something  behind  all  this,"  ho  said.  "  I  am 
not  so  vain  as  to  think  any  merits  of  mine  would  influence 
you.  But  my  devotion,  my  admiration  of  you,  the  very 
force  of  my  passion,  should  move  you.  Be  you  ever  so  set 
a":ainst  me — and  I  do  not  thiidv  von  are — vou  should  not 
be  so  strong  to  resist  the  shock  of  feeling.  I  do  not  know 
the  cause,  but  1  will  find  it  out ;  and  when  I  do,  I  shall 
remove  it  or  be  myself  removed."  lie  touched  my  arm 
with  his  fingers.  "  When  I  touch  you  like  that,"  he  said, 
"  summer  riocs  in  my  veins.  I  will  not  think  that  this 
which  rouses  me  so  is  but  power  upon  one  side,  and  effect 
upon  the  other.  Something  in  you  called  me  to  you,  some- 
thing in  me  will  wake  you  yet.  Jfo)i  Dicu,  I  could  wait 
a  score  of  years  for  my  touch  to  thrill  you  as  yours  does 
me  !    And  I  will— I  will" 

"  You  thiidv  it  suits  your  honour  to  force  my  affec- 
tions ?  "  I  asked  ;  for  I  dared  not  say  all  I  wished. 

•'  What  is  there  in  this  reflecting  on  my  honour  ?  "  he 
answered.  "  At  Versuilles,  believe  me,  thev  would  sav  I 
strive  here  for  a  canonizing.  ]S'o,  no  ;  think  me  so  gal 
hint  that  I  follow  you  to  serve  you,  to  convince  you  that 
the  w\ay  I  go  is  the  way  your  hopes  will  lie.  Honour?  To 
fetch  you  to  the  point  where  you  and  I  should  start  to- 
gether on  the  Appian  Way,  I  would  traffic  with  that,  even, 
and  say  I  did  so,  and  would  do  so  a  thousand  times,  if  in 


I 


BE  SAINT  OR  IMP. 


201 


I  caref  nl- 
liere  wjis 
e  sec  the 
;e  right ; 
liich  was 
r)  woman 
le  nature 
'  matter, 
■that  v/as 

"  I  am 
influence 

the  very 
^'cr  so  set 
ould  not 
lot  know 
o,  I  shall 

mv  arm 
'  he  said, 
that  this 
md  effect 
on,  some- 
3uld  wait 
ours  does 

my  aflec- 

1. 

;)ur  ?  "  ho 

idd  say  1 

e  so  iral 

you  that 
our?    To 

start  to- 
hat,  even, 
[lies,  if  in 


the  end  it  put  your  hand  in  mine.  Who,  who  can  give 
vou  what  1  offer,  can  offer?  See  :  1  have  given  mvself  to 
a  hundred  women  in  my  time — ))ut  what  of  me?  ^J'hat 
which  was  a  candle  in  a  wind,  and  the  light  went  out. 
There  was  no  depth,  no  life,  in  that ;  only  the  shadow  of 
a  man  was  there  those  hundred  times.  Hut  liere,  now, 
tile  whole  man  plunges  into  this  sea,  and  he  will  reach  the 
lighthouse  on  the  shore,  or  ho  broken  on  the  reefs.  Look 
in  my  eyes,  and  see  the  furnace  there,  and  tell  me  if  you 
think  that  fire  is  for  cool  corners  in  the  gardens  at  Xeuilly 

or  for  the  Hills  of "     He  suddenlv  broke  off,  and  a 

singular  smile  followed.  "  There,  there,"  he  said,  "  I  have 
said  enough.  It  came  to  me  all  at  once  how  droll  my 
speech  would  sound  to  our  people  at  Versailles.  It  is  an 
elaborate  irony  that  the  occasional  virtues  of  certain  men 
turn  and  mock  them.  That  is  the  penalty  of  being  in- 
consistent. Be  saint  or  imp;  it  is  the  only  way.  But  tliis 
imp  that  mocks  me  relieves  you  of  reply.  Yet  I  have 
spoken  truth,  and  again  and  again  I  will  tell  it  you,  till 
vou  believe  accord  in  <r  to  mv  gospel." 

How  glad  I  was  that  he  himself  lightened  the  situa- 
tion !  I  had  been  driven  to  despair,  but  this  strange  twist 
in  his  mood  made  all  smooth  for  me.  "That  'again  and 
again'  sounds  dreary,"  said  I.  "It  might  almost  appear 
I  must  somotiine  accept  your  gospel,  to  cure  you  of  preach- 
iu":  it,  and  save  me  from  eternal  drowsiness." 

Wq  were  then  most  fortunately  interrupted.  He  made 
his  adieus,  and  I  went  to  my  room,  brooded  till  my  head 
achod,  then  fell  a-weeping,  and  wished  myself  out  of  the 
world,  I  was  so  sick  and  weary.  Now  and  again  a  hot 
shudder  of  shame  and  misery  ran  through  me,  as  I  tliought 
of  monsieur's  words  to  me.  Put  them  how  he  would, 
they  sound  an  insult  now,  though  as  he  spoke  I  felt  the 
power  of  his  ])assion.  "  If  you  had  lived  a  thousand  years 
ago,  you  would  have  loved  a  thousand  times,"  he  said  to 


202 


TllK  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


me  one  clay.     Somotiines  I  tliiiik  he  spoke  truly;  I  have 
a  nature  that  responds  to  all  eloquence  in  life. 

Robert,  I  liave  bared  my  heart  to  thee.  1  have  hid- 
den nothing.  In  a  few  days  I  shall  go  back  to  the  eity 
with  my  mother,  and  when  1  can  I  will  send  news;  and 
do  thou  send  me  news  also,  if  thou  canst  devise  a  safe 
way.  ]\rean while  I  have  written  my  brother  Juste  to  be 
magnanimous,  and  to  try  for  thy  freedom,  lie  will  not 
betray  me,  and  he  may  help  us.  1  have  begged  him  to 
write  to  thee  a  letter  of  reconcilement. 

And  now,  comrade  of  my  heart,  do  thou  have  courage. 
I  also  shall  be  strong  as  1  am  ardent.  Having  written 
thee,  I  am  cheerful  once  more ;  and  when  again  I  may,  I 
will  open  the  doors  of  my  heart  that  thou  mayst  come  in. 
That  heart  is  thine,  Kobert.     Thy 

Alixe, 
who  loves  thee  all  her  days. 

P.  S. — I  have  found  the  names  and  places  of  tlie  men 
who  keep  the  guard  beneath  thy  window.  If  there  is 
chance  for  freedon)  that  way,  fix  the  day  some  time  ahead, 
and  I  will  see  what  may  be  done.  A'oban  fears  nothin 
he  will  act  secretly  for  me. 


The  next  day  I  arranged  for  my  escape,  which  had 
been  long  in  planning. 


XVII. 


THROUGH  THE  uars  of  the  cage. 

I  SHOULD  have  tried  escape  earlier  but  that  it  was 
little  use  to  venture  forth  in  the  harsh  winter  in  a  hostile 
country.  But  now^  April  had  come,  and  I  was  keen  to 
make  a  trial  of  my  fortune.  I  had  been  saving  food  for 
a  long  time,  little  by  little,  and  hiding  it  in  the  old  knap- 


TIIUOUGII  THE  BARS  OF  THE  CAGE. 


203 


I  luivo 

ve  liid- 
lio  city 
vs ;  and 
0  a  safe 
to  be 
vill  not 
him  to 

toiirage. 

written 

may,  1 

ome  in. 

LIXE, 

le  men 
ihere  is 
>  aheiul, 
otliing  ; 

oil  bad 


it  was 

hostile 

seen  to 

lod  for 

1  knaj)- 


saek  wbieli  luid  held  my  second  suit  of  clothes.  1  bad 
used  the  little  stove  for  parching  my  food — Indian  corn, 
for  which  1  had  ])rofessi'd  Ji  fondness  to  my  jailer,  and 
liberally  paid  for  out  of  funds  which  bad  been  sent  me  by 
^Ir.  (lieorge  Washington  in  answer  to  my  letter,  and  other 
moneys  to  a  goodly  amount  in  a  letter  from  (iovernor 
Dinwiddle.  These  letters  had  been  carefully  written,  and 
the  ^laniuis  do  Vandreuil,  into  whose  hands  they  had 
first  come,  was  gallant  enough  not  to  wichhold  them — 
thougli  he  read  them  ilrst. 

Besides  Indian  corn,  the  parching  of  which  amused 
me,  I  bad  dried  ham  and  tongue,  and  bread  and  cheese, 
enough,  by  frugal  use,  to  last  me  a  month  at  least.  I 
knew  it  would  be  a  lourney  of  six  weeks  or  more  to  the 
nearest  English  settlement,  but  if  I  could  get  that  month's 
start  I  should  forage  for  the  rest,  or  take  my  fate  as  I  found 
it:  I  was  used  to  all  the  turns  of  fortune  now.  My 
knapsack  gradually  filled,  and  meanwhile  I  slowly  worked 
my  passage  into  the  open  world.  There  was  the  chance 
that  my  jailer  would  explore  the  knapsack  ;  but  after  a 
time  I  lost  that  fear,  for  it  lav  nntoucbcd  with  a  blanket 
in  a  corner,  and  I  cared  for  my  cell  with  m.y  own  hands. 

The  real  point  of  danger  was  the  window.  There  lay 
my  way.  It  was  stoutly  barred  with  iron  up  and  down, 
and  the  bars  were  set  in  the  solid  limestone.  Soon  after 
J  entered  this  prison  I  saw  that  I  mnst  cut  a  groove  in 
the  stone  from  stanchion  to  stanchion,  and  tlien,  by  draw- 
ing one  to  the  other,  make  an  oj^ening  large  enough  to 
let  my  l>o(ly  tbrougb.  For  tools  I  bnd  only  a  miserable 
knife  with  which  I  cut  my  victuals,  and  the  smaller  but 
stouter  one  which  Oabord  bad  not  taken  from  me.  'J'here 
could  be  no  pounding,  no  chiselling,  but  oidy  rubbing  of 
the  hard  stone.  So  hour  after  hour  I  rubbed  away,  in 
constant  danger  of  discovery  liowever.  ^Fy  jailer  had 
a  trick  of  sudden  entrance  which  would  have  been  gro- 


204 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  .MIGHTY. 


tosqiio  liiul  it  not  bt'oii  ko  serious  to  inc.  To  provide 
agiiinst  the  llurrii'd  iiujiiisition  of  his  vyo  1  kp[)t  iicur  me 
bread  well  chewed,  with  wiiieh  I  lilli-d  the  hole,  covering 
it  willi  tlie  Siind  I  had  ruhbi'd  or  the  ashes  of  my  inpe.  I 
lived  ill  dread  of  these  eiit ranees,  hut  at  last  I  i'ounil  that 
tliev  eiumeed  only  witiiin  certain  hours,  and  I  arranged 
my  times  of  work  aceorilingly.  Once  or  twice,  however, 
beiui,'  im})atient,  1  scratched  the  stone  with  some  asperity 
and  noise,  and  was  rewan'.ed  bv  liearin^'  mv  fellow  stum- 
bling  in  the  hall  ;  for  he  had  as  uncertain  limbs  as  ever  I 
saw.  lie  stumbled  upon  iiothinfr,  as  you  have  seen  a  cliild 
tri])  itself  u])  by  tan£rlin^^  of  its  feet. 

The  tirst  time  that  he  came,  ^'oused  by  tlie  ^ratiTi"; 
noise  as  he  sat  below,  he  stumbled  in  the  verv  centre  of 
the  cell,  and  fell  upon  his  knees.  I  would  liave  laughed 
if  1  had  dared,  but  1  yawned  over  the  book  I  had  hastily 
snati^hed  u]),  and  {mtVed  great  whiU's  from  my  })ipe.  1 
dreaded  Iv-^  he  should  go  to  the  window.  He  started  for 
it,  but  suddenly  nuide  foi'  my  couch,  and  dragged  it  away, 
as  if  looking  to  find  a  hole  dug  beneath  it.  Still  I  did 
not  laugh  at  him,  but  gravely  watched  liim ;  and  present- 
ly he  went  away.  At  another  time  I  was  foolishly  harsh 
witli  my  tools;  but  I  knew  now  the  time  required  by  him 
to  come  upstairs,  and  I  swiftly  filled  tlie  groove  with 
bread,  strewed  ashes  and  sand  over  it,  rubbed  all  smooth, 
and  was  ]»lnnged  in  my  copy  of  Montaigne  when  he  en- 
tered. This  time  he  went  straight  to  the  window,  looked 
at  it,  tiled  the  stanchions,  and  then,  with  an  amused  at- 
tempt at  being  cunning  and  hidiiig  his  own  vigilance,  he 
asked  me.  with  laborious  hypocrisy,  if  I  had  seen  Captain 
Lancy  ])ass  the  window.  And  so  for  weeks  and  weeks 
we  phxycd  hide-and-seek  with  each  other. 

At  last  I  had  notliing  to  do  but  sit  and  wait,  for  the 
groove  was  cut,  the  bar  had  room  to  play.  I  could  not 
bend  it,  for  it  was  fast  at  the  top ;  but  when  my  hour  of 


TilUuUUlI   TIII^:   BARS  OF  TUP.  CAdH.         005 


l)n)\ido 
iR'ur  me 
covering' 
I)i|)(\  1 
111(1  that 
iirniTi^ed 
liowover, 
ns|)('i'ity 
w  stiiin- 
as  ever  I 
1  a  cliild 


rr 


gratiTi 
entre  of 
laii^Hiod 
1  hastily 
I)i|)e.  I 
Li'ted  for 
it  away, 
ill  ]  did 
present- 
ly luirsh 
I  by  him 
)ve  with 
smooth, 
1  he  eii- 
S  looked 
used  at- 
anne,  ho 
Captain 
id  weeks 

,  for  the 

)nld  not 

hour  of 


adventure  was  oonie,  I  would  tie  a  handkerchief  round  I  ho 
two  l)arH  and  twist  it  with  tlu^  niece  of  hickorv  used  for 
slirriu<(  the  lire.  Here  was  my  eiii^iiu!  of  esca])e,  and  I 
waited  till  April  should  wind  to  its  (dose,  when  1  should, 
in  the  softer  weather,  try  my  fortune  outside  these 
walls. 

So  time  went  on  uniil  one  eventful  day,  even  the  MOth 
of  April  of  that  year  lir)8.  It  was  raininjT  and  blowing 
when  I  waked,  and  it  ceased  not  all  tlu^  (hiy,  c(»ming  to  a 
hailstorm  towai'ds  ni^dit.  I  felt  sure  that  my  ij^uards 
without  would  relax  their  vi<^nhince.  In  the  evening  I 
listened,  and  heard  no  voices  nor  any  sound  of  feet,  only 
the  ])elting  rain  and  the  whistling  wind.  Vet  1  did  not 
stir  till  midnight,  'i'hon  I  sluTig  the  knapsack  in  front 
of  me,  so  that  I  could  force  it  through  the  window  first, 
and  tying  my  handkerchief  round  the  iron  bars,  1  screwed 
it  up  with  my  stick.  Presently  the  bars  came  together, 
and  my  way  was  o})en.  T  got  my  body  through  by  dint 
of  squeezing,  and  let  m.yself  go  plump  into  the  mire  below. 
Then  I  stood  still  a  minute,  and  listened  again. 

A  light  was  shining  not  far  away.  ])rawing  near,  I 
saw  that  it  came  from  a  small  hut  or  lean-to.  Looking 
through  the  cracks,  I  observed  my  two  gentlemen  drows- 
ing in  the  corner.  I  was  eager  for  their  weapons,  but  I 
dared  not  make  the  attempt  to  get  them,  for  they  were 
laid  between  their  l(\irs,  the  barrels  resting  against  their 
shoulders.  I  drew  back,  and  for  a  moment  paused  to  get 
mv  bearings.  Tlien  I  made  for  a  corner  of  the  vard  where 
the  wall  was  lowest,  and,  taking  a  run  jit  it,  caught  the 
top,  witli  dilticulty  scrambled  up,  and  spc^edily  was  over 
and  floundering  in  the  mud.  I  knew  W(?ll  where  I  was, 
and  at  once  started  olT  in  a  northwesterly  direction, 
toward  the  St.  Charles  Iviver,  making  for  a  certain  farm- 
house above  the  town.  Yet  1  took  care,  though  it  was 
dangerous,  to  travel  a  street  in  which  was  Voban's  house. 


SCARBOROUGH   TOWNSHIP 
PUDL.'C    LIBRARY 


200 


TUK  SKATS  OF  'rilK   MKillTV. 


»,: 


;l.^ 


It-; 


There  was  no  li^'lit  in  the  street  iior  in  his  house,  nor  hml 
I  seon  anv  one  ahrojul  as  I  eanie,  not  even  a  sentineh 

I  knew  where  was  tlie  window  ol'  the  harl)er\s  hed- 
rooni,  and  1  ta[)[)ed  upon  it  softly,  instantly  1  iieard  a 
stir;  then  tliere  came  the  sound  of  Hint  and  steel,  then  a 
light,  and  ])rcsently  a  hand  at  the  window,  and  a  voice 
asking  who  was  there. 

1  gave  a  quick  reply;  the  light  was  put  out,  the  win- 
dow opened,  and  tliere  was  N'oban  staring  at  nie. 

"This  letter,''  said  J,  "to  iMademoiselle  Duvarney,'' 
and  1  slipped  ten  louis  into  his  hand  also. 

The  coins  he  (piickly  handed  back.  "  Arsieu',''  said 
he,  "if  I  take  it  1  would  seem  to  myself  a  traitor — no, 
no.     P)ut  I  will  give  the  letter  to  ma'nrsello." 

Then  ho  asked  nic  in;  but  I  would  not,  ^et  begged 
him,  if  he  could,  to  have  u  canoe  at  my  disposjd  at  a  point 
below  the  Falls  of  ^lontmorenci  two  nights  hence. 

*'  ^r\sieu',"  said  he,  "  I  will  do  so  if  I  can,  but  I  am 
watched.  I  would  not  pay  a  sou  for  my  life — no.  Yet  I 
will  serve  you,  if  there  is  a  way." 

Then  I  told  him  what  I  inennt  to  d'  'ind  bade  hitn 
repeat  it  exactly  to  Alixo.  'JMiis  he  sw.»re  to  do,  and  I 
cordially  grasped  the  good  wretch's  shoulder,  and  thanked 
him  with  all  my  heart.  I  got  from  him  a  weapon,  also, 
and  again  I  put  gold  louis  into  his  hand,  and  bade  him 
keep  them,  for  T  might  need  his  kind  otlices  to  spend  it 
for  me.  'I'o  this  he  consented,  and  I  ]»lunged  into  the 
dark  again.  I  had  not  gone  far  when  I  lieard  footsteps 
coming,  and  I  drew  aside  into  the  corner  of  a  poi'ch.  A 
moment,  then  the  light  ilashcd  full  upon  me.  I  had  my 
hand  upon  the  hanger  I  had  got  from  Voban,  and  I  was 
ready  to  strike  if  there  were  need,  when  (Jabord's  voice 
broke  on  my  ear,  and  his  hand  caught  at  the  short  sword 
by  his  side. 

"  'Tis  dickey-bird,  alio  !  "  cried  he.     There  was  exul- 


■1 

'1 

a 

a 

1 

( 

s 

1 

, 

j 

TITROrOII  TIII<:  BARS  OF  TIIK  CAdK.  2»)7 


tation  in  lii-?  oyo  iuid  voido.  IIito  wjih  n  cliinn'o  for  liirn 
to  prove  liiiiisclf  jiiTHiiist  iiic ;  lie  had  proved  liiiiiseir  for 
IMO  niori^  than  (uwv. 

"  Hero  uas  I,"  aihh'.l  lie,  "  uvakhv^  for  M'sieu'  Vohan, 
that  he  ini,i;ht  come  iind  hlee(l  ;i  sick  sohlier,  wlien  who 
slioidd  coiiK!  running  but  our  Mnylish  caplain  !  Conio 
forth,  aho!" 

".No,  (;al)ord,"  said  I,  "  Fni  lumnd  for  freedom."  I 
stepped  forth.  His  sword  was  poised  a;L,^ainst  mo.  I  was 
intent  to  make  a  despei'ati'  (i^^lit. 

"  Marcli  on,"  returned  lie,  grullly,  and  I  could  feel  tho 
iron  in  liis  voice. 

*'  Hut  not  with  you,  (iabord.  ^Fy  way  lies  towards  \'ir- 
ginia." 

1  did  not  care  to  strike  the  fli'st  blow,  and  I  made  (o 
go  past  him.  His  lantern  came  down,  and  he  mad':  a 
catch  at  my  shoulder.  I  swung  back,  threw  oil'  my  cloak 
and  np  my  weapon. 

Tiien  wc  fought.  My  knapsack  troubled  me,  for  it 
was  loose,  and  kept  sliifting.  (Jabord  made  stroke  after 
stroke,  watchful,  heavy,  offensive,  muttering  to  himself  as 
ho  struck  and  parried.  There  was  no  hatred  in  his  eyes, 
but  he  had  the  lust  of  fighting  on  him,  and  he  was  breath- 
ing easily  and  could  have  kei)t  this  up  for  hours.  As 
wo  fouixht  I  heard  a  clock  strike  one  in  a  house  near. 
Then  a  cock  crowed.  T  had  received  two  sliglit  wounds, 
and  1  had  not  touched  mv  enemv.  liut  I  was  swifter, 
and  I  came  at  him  suddenly  with  a  rush,  and  struck  for 
his  left  shoulder  when  I  saw  my  chance.  I  felt  the  steel 
strike  tho  bono.  As  I  did  so  he  caught  my  wrist  and 
lunged  most  fiercely  at  me,  dragging  me  to  him.  The 
blow^  stnudv  straight  at  my  side,  but  it  went  through  the 
knapsack,  which  had  swung  loose,  and  so  saved  my  life; 
for  another  instant  and  I  had  tripped  him  np,  and  he  lay 
bleeding  badly. 


208 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


"Alio!  'twas  a  fair  iigbt,"  said  he.  "  Xow  get  you 
gone.     I  call  for  help." 

"I  can  not  leave  you  so,  (Jabord,"  said  I.  I  stooped 
and  lifted  u])  his  head. 

"  Then  you  shall  go  to  citadel,"  said  he,  feeling  for  his 
small  triunpet. 

"  ]S  0,  no,"  I  answered  ;  "  TU  go  fetch  A\)l)an." 

"  To  bleed  me  more ! "  quoth  he  whimsically ;  and  I 
knew  well  he  was  pleased  1  did  not  leave  him.  "  Xay, 
kick  against  yonder  door.     It  is  (;a})taiii  Lancy's." 

At  that  Mioment  a  window  opened,  and  Jjancy's  voice 
v.'as  heiU'd.  AVithout  a  word  1  seized  the  soldier's  lan- 
tern and  my  cloak,  aiul  made  away  as  hard  as  1  could  go. 

"  ril  have  a  winix  of  vou  for  lantern  there  I "  rcjared 
Gabord,  swearing  roundly  as  I  ran  off  with  it. 

Witli  all  my  might  1  hurried,  and  was  soon  outside  the 
town,  and  coming  fast  to  the  farmhouse  about  two  miles 
beyond.  Xearini]:  it,  I  hid  the  lantern  beneath  my  cloak 
and  made  for  an  outhouse.  The  door  was  not  locked,  and 
I  passed  in.  Thei-e  was  a  loft  nearly  full  of  hay,  and  I 
crawled  up  and  dug  [i  hole  far  down  against  the  side  of 
the  building,  and  climbed  in,  bringing  with  me  for  di'ink 
a  nest  of  hen's  eggs  which  I  found  in  the  corner.  Th(^ 
warmth  of  the  dry  hay  was  comforting,  and  after  caring 
for  my  wounds,  which  I  found  were  but  scratches,  I  had 
somewliat  to  eat  from  my  knapsack,  drank  up  two  eggs, 
and  then  coiled  myself  for  slec];.  It  was  my  purpose,  if 
iiot  discovered,  to  stay  where  I  was  two  days,  and  then  to 
luake  for  the  point  below  the  Falls  of  >rontnu.)renci  vvhere 
I  hoped  to  find  a  canoe  C)f  Voban's  placing. 

When  I  wak(Ml  it  must  have  been  near  noon,  so  I  lay 
still  for  a  time,  listening  to  the  cheerful  noise  of  fowls  and 
cattle  in  the  yard  without,  aud  to  the  clacking  of  a  hen 
above  me.  T'he  air  smelt  very  sweet.  I  also  heard  my 
unknowing  host,  at  whose  table  I  had  once  sat,  two  years 


THROUGH  THE  BARS  OF  THE  CAGE. 


209 


get  you 
I  stooped 


ig  for  his 


1? 

y ;  and  I 

^.   ":sjiv, 

3y's  voice 
ier's  hiu- 

Duld  2'0. 

"  r(Jiired 

:tside  tlie 
wo  niiloo 
my  cloak 
dvcd,  and 
IV,  and  I 
le  side  of 
'or  driidv 
er.  'i'ho 
'r  caring 
\s,  I  had 

^WO  Q^g^, 

irpose,  if 
I  tlien  to 
ici  rvhere 

so  I  liiy 
awls  and 
)f  a  hen 
card  my 
kvo  years 


I 


before,  talking  with  his  son,  who  had  just  come  over  from 
Q,uebec,  bringing  news  of  my  escape,  together  with  a  won- 
derful story  of  the  fight  between  Gabord  and  myself.  It 
had,  by  his  calendar,  lasted  some  three  hours,  and  both  of 
us,  in  the  end,  fought  as  we  lay  upon  the  ground.  "But 
presently  along  comes  a  cloaked  figure,  with  horses,  and 
he  lifts  ni'sieu'  the  ]^]nglishman  upon  one,  and  away  they 
ride  like  the  devil  towards  St.  Charles  River  and  Beau- 
port.  Gabord  was  tjiken  to  the  hospital,  and  he  swore 
that  Englishnuin  would  not  have  got  av/ay  if  stranger  had 
not  fetched  him  a  crack  with  a  pistol-butt  which  sent  him 
dumb  and  dizzy.  And  there  M'sieu'  Lancy  sleep  snug 
through  :'l  until  the  horses  ride  away  !" 

The  farmer  and  his  son  laughed  heartily,  with  many  a 
"  IW  Gar ! "  their  sole  English  oath.  Then  came  the  news 
that  six  thousand  livres  were  olTered  for  me,  dead  or  liv- 
ing, the  drums  beating  far  and  near  to  tell  the  people  so. 

The  farmer  gave  a  long  whistle,  and  in  a  great  bustle 
set  to  calling  all  his  family  to  arm  themselves  and  join 
with  him  "n  this  treasure-hunting.  I  am  sure  at  least  a 
dozen  were  at  the  task,  searching  all  about ;  nor  did  they 
neHect  the  loft  where  I  lav.  But  I  had  dug  far  down, 
drawing  the  hay  over  rne  as  I  went,  so  that  they  must 
needs  liave  l)een  keen  to  smell  me  out.  After  about  three 
hours'  poking  5d)out  over  all  the  farm,  they  met  again 
outside  this  building,  aiul  T  could  hear  their  gabble  plainly. 
The  smallest  among  them,  the  piping  chore-boy,  he  was 
for  spitting  me  witliout  mercy;  and  the  milking-lass 
would  toast  nie  with  a  hay-fork,  that  she  would,  and  six 
thousand  livres  should  set  her  up  forever. 

In  the  midst  of  their  rattling  cinne  two  soldiers,  who 
ordered  them  about,  and  with  much  blustering  began 
searching  here  and  there,  and  chucking  the  maids  uiuler 
the  chins,  as  1  could  tell  by  their  little  bursts  of  laughter 
and  the  "  La  m'sieu's  ! "  which  trickled  through  the  hay. 


210 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


I  am  sure  that  one  sucli  little  episode  saved  me ;  for  I 
heard  a  soldier  just  above  me  poking  and  tossing  hay  with 
iiiicomfortable  vigour.  But  presently  the  amorous  hunter 
turned  his  thoughts  elsewhere,  and  I  was  left  to  myself, 
and  to  a  late  breakfast  of  parched  beans,  and  bread,  and 
raw  eggs,  after  Avhieh  I  lay  and  thought ;  and  the  sum  of 
the  thinking  was  that  I  would  stay  where  I  was  till  the 
firt't  wave  of  the  hunt  had  passed. 

Near  midnight  of  the  second  day  I  came  out  secretly 
from  my  lurking-place,  and  faced  straight  for  the  St. 
Charles  liiver.  Finding  it  at  high  water,  I  plunged  in, 
with  my  knapsack  and  cloak  on  my  head,  and  made  my 
way  across,  reaching  the  oi)posite  shore  safely.  After 
going  two  miles  or  so,  I  discovered  friendly  covert  in  the 
woods,  where,  in  si)ite  of  my  cloak  and  dry  cedar  boughs 
wrapped  round,  I  shivered  as  1  lay  until  the  morning. 
When  the  sun  came  up,  I  drew  out ;  and  af ier  I  was  dry 
again  I  crawled  back  into  my  nest  and  fell  into  a  broken 
sleep.  Many  times  during  the  day  I  heard  the  horns  of 
my  hunters,  and  voices  near  me  more  than  once.  But  1 
had  crawled  into  the  liollow  of  a  half-uprooted  stump,  and 
the  cedar  branches,  which  had  been  cut  off  a  day  or  two 
before,  were  a  screen.  I  could  see  soldiers  here  and  tiiere, 
armed  and  swaggering,  and  faces  of  peasants  and  shop- 
keepers wliom  I  knew. 

A  function  was  being  made  of  my  escape ;  it  was  a 
hunting-feast,  in  which  women  were  as  eager  as  their  hus- 
bands and  their  brothers.  There  was  something  devilish 
in  it,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it :  a  whole  town  roused 
and  al)r()ad  to  hunt  down  one  poor  fugitive,  whose  oidy 
sin  was,  in  themselves,  a  virtue — loyalty  to  his  country.  1 
saw  women  armed  with  sickles  and  iron  forks,  and  lads 
bearing  axes  and  hickory  poles  cut  to  a  point  like  a  spear, 
while  blunderbusses  were  in  plenty.  Now  and  again  a 
wea])on  was  fired,  and,  to  watch  their  motions  and  peep- 


THROUGH  THE  BARS  OF  THE  CAGE. 


211 


e ;  for  I 
hay  with 
s  liiinter 
I  myself, 
ead,  and 
e  sum  of 
s  till  the 

.  secretly 

the   8t. 

uged  in, 

lade  my 

After 

rt  in  the 

I'  boughs 

Homing. 

was  dry 

I  broken 

liorns  of 

But  I 

mp,  and 

y  or  two 

id  tiiere, 

id  shop- 

it  was  a 
leir  h US- 
devilish 
i\  roused 
ose  only 
mtry.  I 
md  lads 
a  s])ear, 
again  a 
id  peep- 


ings,  it  might  have  been  thought  I  was  a  dragon,  or  that 
they  all  were  hunting  La  Jongleuse,  their  fabled  witch, 
whose  villainies,  are  they  not  told  at  every  fireside  ? 

Often  I  shivered  violently,  and  anon  I  was  burning 
hot ;  my  adventure  had  given  me  a  chill  and  fever.  Late 
in  the  evening  of  this  day,  my  hunters  having  drawn  off 
with  as  little  sense  as  they  had  hunted  me,  I  edged  cau- 
tiously down  past  Beauport  and  on.  to  the  Montmorenci 
Falls.  I  came  along  in  safety,  and  reached  a  spot  near 
the  point  where  Voban  was  to  hide  the  boat.  The  high- 
way ran  between.  I  looked  out  cautiously.  I  could  hear 
and  see  nothing,  and  so  I  ran  out,  crossed  the  road,  and 
pushed  for  the  woods  on  the  banks  of  the  river.  I  had 
scarcely  got  across  when  I  heard  a  shout,  and  looking 
round  I  saw  three  horsemen,  who  instantly  spurred  to- 
wards me.  I  sprang  through  the  underbrush,  and  came 
down  roughly  into  a  sort  of  quarry,  spraining  my  ankle 
on  a  pile  of  stones.  I  got  up  quickly  ;  but  my  ankle 
hurt  me  sorely,  and  I  turned  sick  and  dizzy.  lamping 
a  little  way,  I  set  my  back  against  a  tree  and  d^'ew  my 
hanger.  As  I  did  so,  the  three  gentlemen  burst  in  upon 
me.  They  were  General  Montcalm,  a  gentleman  of  the 
Governor's  household,  a^d  Doltaire  ! 

"  It  is  no  use,  dear  captain,"  said  Doltaire.  "  Yield 
up  your  weapon." 

General  Montcalm  eyed  me  curiously,  as  the  other 
gentleman  talked  in  low,  excited  tones  ;  and  presently 
he  made  a  gesture  of  courtesy,  for  he  saw  that  I  was 
hurt.  Doltaire's  face  wore  a  malicious  smile  ;  but  when 
he  noted  how  sick  T  was,  he  came  and  offered  me  his  arm, 
and  was  constant  in  courtesy  till  I  was  set  upon  a  horse ; 
and  with  him  and  the  General  riding  beside  me  I  came 
to  my  new  imprisonment.  They  both  forbore  to  torture 
me  with  words,  for  I  was  suffering  greatly ;  but  they 
fetched  me  to  the  Chateau  St.  Louis,  follcwed  by  a  crowd. 


212 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


who  hooted  at  mc.  Doltiiiro  turued  on  them  at  last,  and 
stopped  them. 

The  Governor,  whose  petty  vanity  was  roused,  showed 
a  foolish  fury  at  seeing  me,  and  straightway  ordered  me 
to  the  citadel  again. 

"  It's  useless  kicking  "gainst  the  pricks,"  said  Doltaire 
to  me  cynically,  as  I  ]>assed  out  limping  between  two  sol- 
diers ;  but  I  did  not  reply.  In  another  half  hour  of  bit- 
ter journeying  I  found  myself  in  my  dungeon.  I  sank 
upon  the  old  couch  of  straw,  untouched  since  I  had  left 
it;  and  when  the  door  shut  upon  me,  desponding,  aching 
in  all  my  body,  now  feverish  and  now  shivering,  my  ankle 
in  great  pain,  1  could  bear  up  no  longer,  and  I  bowed  my 
head  and  fell  a-weeping  like  a  woman. 


I 


XVIII. 


TTIE    STEEP    PATH    OF    COXQUEST. 

Xow  I  am  come  to  a  period  on  which  I  shall  not  dwell, 
nor  repeat  a  tale  of  suffering  greater  than  that  I  had  yet 
endured.  All  the  first  night  of  this  new  imprisonment 
I  tossed  on  my  wretched  bed  in  pain  and  misery.  A 
strange  and  surly  soldier  came  and  went,  bringing  bread 
and  water  ;  but  when  I  asked  that  a  physician  be  sent  me, 
he  replied,  with  a  vile  oath,  that  the  devil  should  be  my 
only  surgeon.  Soon  he  came  again,  accompanied  by  an- 
other soldier,  and  put  irons  on  me.  With  what  quietness 
I  could  I  asked  him  by  whose  orders  this  was  done ;  but 
he  vouchsafed  no  rei)ly  save  that  I  was  to  "  go  bound  to 
fires  of  hell." 

"  There  is  no  journeying  there,"  I  answered  ;  "  here  is 
the  place  itself." 

Then   a   chain  was   roughly  put   round   my   injured 


THE  STEEP  PATH  OP  CONQUEST. 


213 


last,  and 

,  showed 
ered  me 

Doltaire 
two  soi- 
r  of  bit- 
I  sank 
bad  left 
,  acliing 
ly  aukle 
I  wed  my 


>t  dwell, 
had  yet 
lonmeiit 
ery.  A 
ig  bread 
!ent  me, 
i  be  my 
.  by  an- 
iiietness 
ne ;  but 
ound  to 

'  here  is 

injured 


ankle,  and  it  gave  me  such  agony  that  I  turned  sick,  but 
I  kept  back  groaning,  for  1  would  not  have  these  varlets 
catch  me  quaking. 

"  I'll  have  you  grilled  for  this  one  day,"  said  I.  "  You 
are  no  men,  but  butchers.  Can  you  not  see  my  ankle  has 
been  sorely  hurt  ?  " 

"  You  are  for  killing,"  was  the  grulT  reply,  "  and  here's 
a  taste  of  it." 

With  that  he  drew  the  chain  with  a  jerk  round  the 
hurt  member,  so  that  it  drove  me  to  madness.  I  cauixht 
him  by  the  throat  and  hurled  him  back  agaiust  the  wall, 
and,  snatching  a  pistol  from  his  comrade's  belt,  aimed  it  at 
his  head.  I  was  beside  myself  with  pain,  and  if  he  had 
been  further  violent  I  should  straightway  have  shot  him. 
llis  fellow  dared  not  stir  in  his  defence,  for  the  pistol  was 
trained  on  him  too  surely ;  and  so  at  last  the  wretch, 
promising  better  treatment,  crawled  to  his  feet,  and  made 
motion  for  the  pistol  to  be  given  him.  But  I  would  not 
yield  it,  telling  him  it  should  be  a  guarantee  of  truce. 
Presently  the  door  closed  behind  them,  and  I  sank  back 
upon  the  half-fettered  chains. 

I  must  have  sat  for  more  than  an  hour,  when  there 
was  a  noise  without,  and  there  entered  the  commandant, 
the  jMarquis  de  Montcalm,  and  the  Seigneur  Duvarney. 
Tlie  pistol  was  in  my  hand,  and  I  did  not  put  it  down, 
but  struggled  to  my  feet,  and  waited  for  tliem  to  speak. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  and  then  the  com- 
numdant  said,  "  Your  guards  have  brought  me  word.  Mon- 
sieur le  Capitaine,  that  you  are  violent.  You  have  re- 
sisted them,  and  have  threatened  them  with  their  own 
pistols  " 

"  With   one   pistol,  monsieur    le   commandant,"    an- 
swered I.    Then,  in  bitter  words,  I  told  them  of  my  treat- 
ment by  those  rascals,  and  I  showed  them  how  my  ankle 
had  been  tortured.     "  I  have  no  fear  of  death,"  said  I, 
15 


2U 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


(( 


but  I  will  not  lie  and  lot  dogs  bite  me  with  '  I  thank  yon.* 

ce;  it  is  a  damned  brutality  to 


Death  should  come  but  once ;  it  is  a  ciamn 
make  one  die  a  hundred  and  yet  live — the  work  of  Turks, 
not  Christians!  If  you  want  my  life,  why,  take  it  and 
have  done." 

Tlie  ^larcjuis  de  Montcalm  whispered  to  the  command- 
ant. The  Seigneur  Duvarney,  to  whom  I  had  not  yet 
spoken,  nor  he  to  me,  stood  leaning  against  the  wall,  gaz- 
ing at  me  seriously  and  kindly. 

Presently  Ramesay,  the  Commandant,  spoke,  not  un- 
kindly :  "  It  was  ordered  you  should  wear  chains,  but  not 
that  you  should  be  maltreated.  A  suro-eon  shall  be  sent 
to  you,  and  this  chain  shall  be  taken  from  your  ankle. 
]\[eanwhile,  your  guards  shall  he  changed." 

I  hold  out  the  pistol,  and  he  took  it.  "  I  can  not  hope 
for  justice  here,"  said  I,  "  but  men  are  men,  and  not  dogs, 
and  I  ask  for  humane  usage  till  my  hour  comes  and  my 
country  is  your  jailer." 

The  Marquis  smiled,  and  his  gay  eyes  sparkled. 
"Some  find  comfort  in  daily  bread,  and  some  in  prophe- 
cy," ho  rejoined.  "  One  should  envy  your  spirit.  Captain 
Moray." 

"  Permit  me,  your  Excellency,"  replied  I ;  "  all  Eng- 
lishmen must  envy  the  spirit  of  the  ^larquis  de  Montcalm, 
though  none  is  envious  of  his  cause." 

He  bowed  gravely.  "  Causes  are  good  or  bad  as  they 
are  ours  or  our  neighbours'.  The  lion  has  a  good  cause 
when  it  goes  hunting  for  its  young  ;  the  deer  has  a  good 
cause  when  it  resists  the  lion's  leap  upon  its  fawn." 

I  did  not  reply,  for  I  felt  a  faintness  coming;  and  nt 
that  moment  the  Seigneur  Duvarney  came  to  me  and 
put  his  arm  through  mine.  A  dizziness  seized  me,  my 
head  sank  upon  his  shoulder,  and  I  felt  myself  floating 
avv^ay  intj  darkness,  while  from  a  great  distance  came  a 
voice : 


THE   STEEP  PATH  OP  CONt^UEST. 


215 


hank  you.' 

rutulity  to 

of  Turks, 

ike  it  and 

com  man  d- 
d  not  yet 
i  wall,  gaz- 

0,  not  un- 
is,  but  not 
all  be  sent 
Dur  ankle. 

1  not  ho})0 
L  not  dogs, 
!S  and  niv 

sparkled, 
in  pro})lie- 
it,  Captain 

"all  Eng- 
Montcalni, 

»ad  as  thev 
^ood  cause 
has  a  good 
vn." 

ig;  and  ni 
;o  me  and 
'd  mo,  my 
If  floating 
ice  came  a 


"  It  had  been  kinder  to  have  ended  it  last  year." 

"  He  nearly  killed  your  son,  Duvarney."  This  was  the 
voice  of  the  Marquis  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  lie  saved  my  life,  iMarquis,"  was  the  sorrowful  reply. 
"  1  have  not  paid  back  those  forty  pistoles,  nor  ever  can, 
in  s])ite  of  all." 

"  Ah,  pardon  me,  seigneur,"  was  the  courteous  rejoin- 
der of  the  General. 

That  was  all  1  heard,  for  1  had  entered  the  land  of 
complete  darkness.  When  I  came  to,  1  found  that  my 
foot  had  been  bandaged,  there  was  a  torch  in  the  wall, 
and  by  my  side  something  in  a  jug,  of  which  I  drank, 
according  to  directions  in  a  surgeon's  hand  on  a  paper 
beside  it. 

I  was  easier  in  all  my  body,  yet  miserably  sick  still, 
and  1  remained  so,  now  shivering  and  now  burning,  a 
racking  pain  in  my  chest.  My  couch  was  lilled  witli  fresh 
straw,  but  in  no  other  wise  was  my  condition  altered  from 
the  first  time  I  had  entered  this  place.  My  now  jailer 
was  a  man  of  no  feeling  that  1  could  see,  yet  of  no  vio- 
lence or  cruelty ;  one  whose  life  was  like  a  wheel,  doing 
the  eternal  round.  He  did  no  more  nor  less  than  his 
orders,  and  1  made  no  complaint  nor  asked  any  favour. 
Xo  one  came  to  me,  no  message  found  its  way. 

Full  three  months  went  by  in  this  fashion,  and  then, 
one  day,  who  should  step  into  my  dungeon,  torch  in  hand, 
but  Oabord  !  lie  raised  the  light  above  his  head,  and 
looked  down  at  me  quizzically. 

"  Upon  my  soul — Gabord  !  "  said  1.  "  1  did  not  kill 
vou,  then?" 

"  Upon  your  soul  and  upon  your  body,  you  killed  not 
Gabord." 

"And  what  now,  quarrelsome  Gabord?"  1  questioned 
cheerfully. 

He  shook  some  keys.    "  Back  again  to  dickey-bird's 


216 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


cage.  'Look  you,'  quotli  (Jovcrnor,  '-  who  will  guui'd  uiul 
bait  tliis  prisoiior  like  the  inaii  he  inaulcd  V '  'No  one,' 
quoth  a  lady  who  staiuls  by  (ntvi-ruor's  ohair.  And  she  it 
was  who  had  (Joveriior  send  me  here — even  .Ma'm'sello 
Duvarney.  And  she  it  was  who  made  Ciovernor  loose  oil' 
these  chains." 

lie  began  to  free  me  from  tlio  chains.  I  was  in  a  vile 
condition.  The  irons  had  made  sores  npon  my  wrists  and 
legs,  my  limbs  now  trembled  so  beneath  me  that  I  could 
scarcely  walk,  and  my  head  was  very  light  and  dizzy  at 
times.  J'resently  Ciabord  ordered  a  new  bed  of  straw 
brought  in;  and  from  that  hour  we  returned  to  our  old 
relations,  as  if  there  had  not  been  between  us  a  fight  to 
the  death.  Of  wliat  was  going  on  abroad  he  would  not 
tell  me,  and  soon  I  found  myself  in  as  ill  a  state  as  before. 
No  Voban  came  to  me,  no  Doltaire,  no  one  at  all.  I  sank 
into  a  deep  silence,  dro|)])ed  out  of  a  busy  world,  a  riursel 
of  earth  slowly  comiiig  to  Mother  Earth  again. 

A  strange  apathy  began  to  settle  on  me.  All  those 
resources  of  my  first  year's  imj)risonment  had  gone,  and  I 
was  alone:  my  mouse  was  dead;  there  was  no  liistory  of 
my  life  to  write,  no  incident  to  break  the  pitiful  monot- 
ony. There  seemed  only  one  hope:  that  our  army  under 
Amherst  would  invest  Quebec  and  take  it.  I  had  no  news 
of  any  movement,  winter  again  was  here,  and  it  must  lie 
five  or  six  months  before  any  action  could  successfully  be 
taken;  for  the  St.  Lawrence  was  frozen  over  in  winter, 
and  if  the  city  was  to  be  seized  it  must  be  from  the  water, 
with  simultaneous  action  by  land. 

1  knew  the  way,  the  only  way,  to  take  the  city.  At 
Sillery,  west  of  tiie  town,  there  was  a  hollow  in  the  cliffs, 
up  which  men,  secretly  conveyed  above  the  town  by  water, 
could  climb.  At  the  to])  was  a  plateau,  smooth  and  line  as 
a  parade-ground,  where  battle  could  be  given,  or  move  be 
made  upon  the  city  and  citadel,  which  lay  on  ground  no 


THE  STEKP  PATH  OP  CONQUEST. 


217 


lurd  and 
No  oiu',' 
ml  slie  it 
ii'm'sL'llo 
loooc  olT 

ill  {I  vile 

lists  Mild 

I  could 

dizzy  ut 

of  straw 

)  our  old 

-  flijlit  to 

ould  not 

IS  before. 

I  sank 

a  Ti).>rsel 

Ml  those 
tie,  and  I 
listory  of 
1  monot- 
iiy  under 
no  news 
must  be 
isfully  be 
1  winter, 
lie  water, 

3ity.  At 
:lie  clilTs, 
by  water, 
id  tine  as 
move  be 
ound  no 


liii^dier.  Then,  with  the  gnns  playin.s^  on  the  town  from 
the  lU'ct,  and  from  the  Levis  shore  with  forces  on  the 
Beauport  side,  attack in;j^  the  lower  town  where  was  the 
Intendant's  palace,  the  great  fortress  might  be  taken  and 
Canada  be  ours. 

T'his  passage  up  the  clilT  side  at  Sillery  I  had  discovered 
three  years  befoi'e. 

When  winter  set  well  in  CJabord  brought  me  ,  blanket, 
aiid  thouirh  last  year  I  had  not  needed  it,  now  it  was  most 
grateful.  I  had  been  fed  for  months  on  bread  and  water, 
as  iu  my  first  imprisonment,  but  at  last — whether  by 
orders  or  not,  I  never  knew — he  brought  me  a  little  meat 
every  day,  and  some  wine  also.  Yet  I  did  not  care  for 
them,  and  often  left  them  nntasted.  A  hacking  cough 
had  never  left  me  since  my  attcm})t  at  escape,  and  I  was 
miserably  thin  and  so  weak  that  1  could  hardly  drag  my- 
self about  my  dun£::eon.  So,  many  weeks  of  the  Avinter 
went  on,  and  at  last  I  was  not  able  to  rise  from  my  bed  of 
straw,  and  could  do  little  more  than  lift  a  cup  of  water  to 
mv  lii)s  and  nibble  at  some  bread.  I  felt  that  mv  hours 
were  numbered. 

At  last,  one  day  I  heard  commotion  at  my  dungeon 
door;  it  opened,  and  Gabord  entered  and  closed  it  after 
liiin.  lie  came  and  stood  over  me,  as  with  dilliculty  I 
lifted  myself  upon  my  elbow. 

"  Come,  try  your  wings,"  Sidd  he. 

"  It  is  the  end,  Gabonl  ?"  asked  I. 

"  Xot  paradise  yet !  "  said  he. 

'■Then  I  am  free?"  I  asked. 

"  Free  from  tliis  dungeon,"  he  answered  cheerily. 

I  raised  myself  and  tried  to  stand  upon  my  feet,  but 
fell  back.  He  helped  me  to  rise,  and  1  rested  an  arm  on 
his  shoulder. 

I  ti'ied  to  walk,  but  a  faintuess  came  over  me,  and  I 
sank  back.     Then   (Jabord  laitl   me   down,   went  to  the 


218 


THE  SEATS  OF  TIIK   MUIIITY. 


door,  and  nulled  in  two  soldit'i'H  with  a  iimttrcss.  i  was 
wrapped  in  my  cloak  and  bhudvt'ts,  laid  thori'on,  and  so 
was  borne  forth,  nil  cov(M'(m1  even  to  my  weak  eyes.  1 
was  placed  in  a  slciiih,  ami  as  tho  horses  sprang  away, 
the  clear  sleigh  bells  rang  out,  and  a  gun  from  the  ram- 
parts was  fired  to  give  the  noon  hour,  1  sank  into  uncon- 
sciousness. 


XIX. 


A   DAXSEUSE   AND   THE   BASTILE. 

Recoyerixg,  I  found  myself  lying  on  a  concli,  in  a 
large,  well-lighted  room  hung  about  with  pictures  and 
adorned  with  troi)hies  of  the  hunt.  A  wide  window  faced, 
the  foot  of  the  bed  where  I  lay,  and  through  it  I  could 
see — though  the  light  hui't  my  eyes  greatly — the  Levis 
shore,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  St.  Lawrence.  I  lay 
and  thought,  trying  to  discover  where  I  was.  It  came  to 
me  at  last  that  I  was  in  a  room  of  the  Chateau  St.  Louis. 
Presently  I  heard  breathing  near  me,  and,  looking  over,  I 
saw  a  soldier  sitting  just  inside  the  door. 

Then  from  another  corner  of  the  room  came  a  surgeon 
with  some  cordial  in  a  tumbler,  and,  handing  it  to  me,  he 
bade  me  drink,  lie  felt  my  pulse  ;  then  stopped  and  put 
his  ear  to  my  chest,  and  listened  long. 

*'  Is  there  great  danger?"  asked  I. 

"The  trouble  Avould  ])ass,"  said  he,  "if  you  WTre 
stronger.  Your  life  is  worth  lighting  for,  but  it  will  be  a 
struggle.  That  dungeon  was  slow  jioison.  You  must 
have  a  barber,"  added  he  ;  "  yon  are  a  ghost  like  this." 

I  put  my  hand  up,  and  I  found  my  hair  and  beard 
were  very  long  and  almost  white.  Held  against  the  light, 
my  hands  seemed  transparent.  "  What  means  my  coming 
here  ?  ''  asked  I. 


A   DANSEUSE  AXD  THE  BASTILE. 


219 


awuy, 


IIo  shook  liis  liejul.  "1  jun  but  Ji  surgeon,"  lie  an- 
swered shortly,  mcaiiwliile  writing  with  u  ilourish  on  a 
piece  of  pajjer.  AViien  lu'  hiul  linisheil,  he  handed  tlie 
paper  to  the  soldier  witli  an  order.  Then  he  turned  to  go, 
politely  bowing  to  nie,  but  came  again  and  said,  "I  would 
not,  were  1  you,  trouble  to  plan  escape  these  months  yet. 
This  is  a  comfortable  prison,  but  it  is  easier  coming  in 
than  going  out.  Your  ndnd  and  body  need  (juiet.  You 
have,  we  know,  a  taste  for  adventure" — he  smiled — "but 
is  it  wise  to  light  a  burning  powder  magazine?" 

"  Thank  you,  monsieur,"  said  I,  "  1  am  myself  laying 
the  fuse  to  that  magazine.  It  lights  for  nie  by-and- 
bye." 

]le  shrugged  a  shoulder.  "  Drink,"  said  he,  with  a 
professional  air  wliicli  almost  set  me  laughing,  "good 
milk  and  brandy,  and  think  of  nothing  but  that  you  are 
a  lucky  man  to  have  this  sort  of  i)rison." 

He  bustled  out  in  an  important  way,  shaking  his  head 
and  talking  to  himself.  Tapi)ing  the  chest  of  a  bulky 
soldier  who  stood  outside,  he  said  brusquely,  "  Too  fat,  too 
fat;  you'll  come  to  apoplexy.  (Jo  figlit  the  English,  lazy 
rullian!" 

The  soldier  gave  a  grunt,  made  a  mocking  gesture,  and 
the  door  closed  on  me  and  my  attendant.  This  fellow 
would  not  speak  at  all,  and  I  did  not  urge  him,  but  lay 
and  watched  the  day  decline  aiul  night  come  down.  I 
was  taken  to  a  small  alcove  wliich  adjoined  the  room, 
where  I  slept  soundly. 

Early  the  next  morning  I  waked,  and  there  was  Voban 
sitting  just  outside  the  alcove,  looking  at  me.  I  sat  np  in 
bed  and  spoke  to  him,  and  he  greeted  me  in  an  absent  sort 
of  way.  He  was  changed  as  much  as  I ;  he  moved  as  one 
in  a  dream ;  yet  there  was  the  ceaseless  activity  of  the  eye, 
the  swift,  stealthy  motion  of  the  hand.  He  began  to  at- 
tend me,  and  I  questioned  him  :  but  he  said  he  had  orders 


220 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIOHTV. 


from  miulomoiscllo  tluit  !io  was  to  tell  nothing — tliat  slio, 
as  soon  an  sho  could,  would  visit  u\(\ 

About  (liiTi;  hours  jifUT  this,  as  I  lay  upon  tlie  couch 
in  tlie  largo  room,  clean  and  well  shaven,  the  door  opened, 
and  sonic  one  entered,  saving  to  my  guard,  "  Vou  will  re- 
nuiiu  outside.     I  have  the  (iovernor's  order." 

I  knew  the  voice;  an  instant,  and  1  saw  tlie  face  sinn- 
ing with  exjtectancy,  the  eyes  eager,  yet  timid,  a  small 
white  hand  pressed  to  a  i>ulsing  breast — my  one  true 
friend,  the  jailer  of  my  heart! 

For  a  moment  she  was  all  trembling  and  excited,  her 
hand  softly  clutcdung  at  my  shoulder,  tears  dripping  from 
her  eyes  and  falling  on  my  cheek,  as  hers  lay  pressed  to 
mine  ;  but  [)rcsently  she  grew  calm,  and  her  face  was  lifted 
with  a  smile,  and,  brushing  ])iwk  some  Hying  locks  of  hair, 
she  said  in  a  tone  most  (piaint  and  touching  too,  "  Poor 
gentleman  !  [)0or  English  jyrisoner  !  ]K)or  hidden  lover!  I 
ought  not,  I  ought  not,"  sho  added,  "show  mv  feel- 
ings  thus,  nor  excite  you  so."  My  hand  was  trembling 
on  hers,  for  in  trutli  I  was  very  weak.  "  It  was  my  pur- 
pose," she  continued,  "  to  come  most  ((iiietly  to  yon,  but 
there  are  times  when  one  must  cry  out  or  the  heart  will 
burst." 

I  spoke  then  as  a  man  may  avIio  has  been  delivered 
from  bondage  into  the  arms  of  love.  She  became  very 
quiet,  looking  at  me  in  her  grave,  sweet  way,  her  deep 
cv'\s  shining  with  sincerity. 

"Honest,  honest  eyes,"  said  I—"  eyes  that  never  de- 
ceive and  never  were  deceived." 

"All  tliis  in  spite  of  what  you  do  not  know,"  she  an- 
swered. For  an  instant  a  lo(^k  elllsli  and  childlike  came 
into  her  eyes,  and  she  drew  back  from  me,  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  and  caught  her  skirts  in  her  fingers. 

"  See,"  she  said,  "is  there  no  deceit  here?" 

Then  she  began  to  dance  softly,  her  feet  seeming  hardly 


A   DAXSKUsr:  ANT)  THE   nASTTLn. 


221 


tliiit  slio, 

\o  roucli 
'  opciied, 
I  will  re- 

;u'0  sliiii- 

!i  Kiniill 

)no   true 

:ito(l,  licr 
ing  from 
reast'd  to 
•lis  lifteil 
i  of  liair, 
I,  "  Poor 
over !  1 
nv  fool- 
'ombling 
my  piir- 
von,  l)iit 
eart  will 

lolivcred 
,me  very 
ler  deep 

over  de- 
she  ali- 
ke came 
1  in  the 


iigei\<i. 


^  hardly 


to  toueli  the  p^roimd,  lier  ])ody  swaying  like  u  tall  flower 
ill  tiie  wind,  her  face  all  light  and  lire.  1  was  charnied, 
fascinated.  I  felt  my  sleepy  hlood  stirring  to  tlie  delicate 
rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom,  the  light  of  hci-  eyes  llasliiiig  a 
dozen  colours.  'JMicrc  was  scarce  a  sound;  her  steps  could 
not  be  heard  across  the  room. 

All  at  once  she  broke  oil  from  this,  and  stood  still. 

"  Did  my  eyes  seem  all  honest  then?"  she  asked,  with 
a  strange,  wistful  expression.  Then  she  came  to  the  couch 
where  I  was. 

"  liobert,"  said  she,  "can  you,  do  you,  trust  me  even 
Avhen  vou  see  me  at  such  witchery  V" 

"  1  trust  you  always,"  answered  I.  "Such  witcheries 
are  no  evils  that  1  can  see." 

She  put  her  linger  u|  >\i  my  lips,  with  a  kind  of  bash- 
fulness.  "  llush,  till  1  tell  you  where  and  when  I  danced 
like  that,  and  then,  and  then " 

81:  settled  down  in  a  low  chair.  "  I  have  at  least  an 
hour,"  she  continued.  "'J'he  (Jovernor  is  busy  with  my 
father  and  General  Montcalm,  and  they  will  not  be  free 
for  a  long  time.  For  your  soldiers,  I  have  been  bribing 
them  to  my  service  these  weeks  past,  and  they  are  safe 
enough  for  to-day.     Now  I  will  tell  you  of  that  dancing. 

"One  iiiu:hl,  last  autumn  there  was  a  grand  dinner  at 
the  Intembmce.  Such  gentlemen  as  my  father  were  not 
asked;  only  the  roisterers  and  hard  drinkers,  and  gam- 
])ling  friends  of  the  Tntendant.  You  would  know^  the  sort 
of  npspring  it  would  be.  Well,  I  was  sitting  in  my  win- 
dow, looking  down  into  the  gardc^i.  for  the  moon  was 
shining.  Presently  T  saw  a  man  ap])ear  b'^low,  glance  up 
towards  me,  and  beckon.  ItwasVoban.  I  hurried  down 
to  liim,  and  he  told  me  that  there  had  bin-n  a  wild  carous- 
ing at  the  palace,  and  that  ten  gentlemen  had  determined, 
for  a  wicked  sport,  to  mask  1 1 icjn selves,  go  to  the  citadel 
at  midnight,  fetch  yon  forth,  and  make  you  run  the  gant- 


222 


THE  SEATS   or  TIIxO  MIGHTY. 


I 


let  in  the  yard  of  tlie  Inteiiduncc,  and  afterwards  set  you 
lighting  for  your  Ife  witli  another  jirisoner,  a  common 
criminal.  To  this,  Bigot,  heated  with  wine,  had  made  no 
objotion.  Monsieur  Doltaire  was  not  present ;  he  had,  it 
was  said,  taken  a  secret  journey  into  the  English  country. 
The  Governor  was  in  Montreal,  where  he  had  gone  to  dis- 
cuss matters  of  war  witii  the  Council. 

*'  There  was  but  one  thing  to  do — get  word  to  Gen- 
eral ]\[ont('aIm.  lie  was  staying  at  the  moment  with  the 
Seigneur  I'ipon  at  his  manor  by  the  Montmorenci  Falls. 
lie  must  needs  be  sought  tliere  :  he  would  never  allow  this 
shameless  thing.  !So  I  bade  A'oban  go  thither  at  once, 
getting  a  horse  from  any  quarter,  and  to  ride  as  though 
for  his  life,  lie  promised,  and  left  me,  and  I  returned 
to  my  room  to  think.  A\>ban  had  told  m  thut  his  news 
came  from  Bigot's  valet,  who  is  his  close  friend.  This  1 
knew,  and  I  knew  the  valet  too,  for  I  had  seen  something 
of  him  wiien  my  brotlicr  lay  wounded  at  the  palace.  Un- 
der the  best  Lurcumstances  General  ]\Iontcalm  could  not 
arrive  within  two  hours.  Meanwhile,  these  miserable  men 
might  go  on  tlieir  dreadful  expedition.  Something  must 
be  done  to  gain  time.  I  racked  my  brain  for  minutes,  cill 
the  blood  pounded  at  my  temples.  Presently  a  plan  came 
to  me. 

"  There  is  in  Quebec  one  ]Madame  Jamond,  a  great 
Parisian  dancer,  who,  for  reasons  which  none  knows,  save 
perhaps  ^Monsieur  Doltaire,  has  been  banished  from  France. 
Since  she  came  to  Canada,  some  nine  months  ago,  she  has 
lived  quietly  and  religiously,  though  many  trials  have  been 
made  to  bring  her  talents  into  service;  and  the  Intend- 
ant  h;is  made  many  efCortt:  to  have  her  dance  in  the  ])alace 
for  his  guests.     P)ut  she  would  not. 

"^ladame  Lotbinicre  had  come  to  know  Jamond,  and 
ohe  arranged,  after  much  persuasion,  for  lessons  in  danc- 
ing to  be  given  to  Lucy,  myself,  and  Georgette.     To  me 


A   DANSEUSE  AND  THE  BASTILE. 


223 


(Is  set  you 
L  common 
I  made  no 
lie  had,  it 
li  country. 
me  to  dis- 

i  to  Gen- 
t  with  the 
jnci  Falls, 
allow  this 
r  at  once, 
as  though 
'  returned 
t  his  news 
1.  This  1 
something 
ace.  Un- 
co aid  not 
■rable  men 
liing  must 
inuf  es,  till 
plan  came 

1,  a  great 
tiows,  save 
m  France. 
;o,  she  has 
have  been 
e  Intend- 
the  palace 

nond,  and 
1  in  danc- 
1.     To  me 


the  dancing  was  a  keen  delight,  a  passion.  As  I  danced 
I  saw  and  feit  a  thousand  things,  I  can  not  tell  you  how. 
Now  my  feet  appeared  light  as  air,  like  thistledown,  my 
body  to  float.  I  was  as  a  lost  soul  ily'ug  home,  flocks  of 
birds  singing  me  to  come  with  them  into  a  pleasant  land. 

"  Then  all  that  changed,  and  I  was  passing  through  a 
bitter  land,  with  Inirsh  shadows  and  tall,  cold  mountains. 
From  clefts  and  hollows  figures  flew  out  and  caught  at 
me  with  filmy  hands.  These  melancholy  things  pursued 
me  as  I  flew,  till  my  wings  drooped,  and  I  felt  that  I  must 
drop  into  the  dull  marsh  far  beneath,  round  which  trav- 
elled a  lonely  mist. 

"  But  this,  too,  passed,  and  I  came  through  a  land  all 
fire,  so  that,  as  I  flew  swiftly/,  my  wings  were  scorched, 
and  I  was  blinded  often,  and  often  missed  my  way,  and 
must  chansfc  mv  course  of  flight.  It  was  all  scarlet,  all 
that  land — scarlet  sky  and  scarlet  sun  and  scarlet  flowers, 
and  the  rivers  running  red,  and  men  and  women  in  long 
red  robes,  with  eyes  of  ilame,  and  voices  that  kept  crying, 
'  'J'he  world  is  mad,  and  all  life  is  a  fever  ! ' " 

She  paused  for  a  moment,  seeming  to  come  out  of  a 
dream,  and  then  she  laughed  a  little.  "Will  you  not  go 
on  ?  "  I  asked  gently. 

"  Sometimes,  too,"  she  said,  "  I  .ancied  I  was  before  a 
king  and  his  court,  dancing  for  my  life  or  for  another's. 
Oh,  how  1  scanned  the  faces  of  my  judges,  as  they  sat 
there  watching  me;  some  meanwhile  throwing  crumbs  to 
fluttering  birds  that  whirled  round  me,  some  stroking  the 
cars  of  hounds  that  gaped  at  me,  while  the  king's  fool  at 
first  made  mock  at  me,  and  tlie  face  of  a  man  behind  the 
king's  chair  smiled  like  Satan— or  ^Nfoi^sicur  Doltaire! 
Ah,  Koberl,  I  knoAV  you  think  me  fanciful  and  foolish,  as 
indeed  I  am ;  but  you  must  bear  with  me. 

"  I  danced  constantly,  practising  hour  upon  hour  with 
Jamond,  who  came  to  be  my  good  friend ;  and  you  shall 


224 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


hear  from  mc  some  day  lior  history — a  sad  one  indeed ; 
a  woman  sinned  agriinst,  not  sinning,  lint  these  lessons 
went  on  seci'etly,  for  I  was  snre,  if  j)eoi)le  knew  how 
warmly  I  followed  this  recreation,  they  wonld  set  it  down 
to  wiKnl  desire  to  be  singnlar — or  worse.  It  gave  me  new 
interest  in  lonely  days.     So  the  weeks  went  on. 

"  Well,  that  wieked   night  I  sent  Voban   to   Ceneral 
Montcalm,  and,  as  1  said,  a  thonght  caine  to  me:  I  would 
lind  Jamond,  beg  her  to  mask  herself,  go  to  the  Intend- 
ance    and    dance    before    the   gentlemen    there,   keei)ing 
them  amused  until  the  General  came,  as  I  was  sure  he 
would  at  my  suggestion,  for  he  is  a  just  man  and  a  gener- 
ous.     All   my  jx'oplc,  even  (Jeorgette,  were  abroad  at  a 
soiree,  and  would  not  be  home  till  late.     So  I  souiiht  Ma- 
thilde,  and  she  hurried  wiili  me,  my  poor  daft  protector, 
to  Jamond's,  whose  house  is  very  near  the  bisho})''s  palace. 
"  We  were  at  once  admitted  to  Jamond,  who  was  lvii;'»- 
npoii  a  coucli.     I  hurriedly  told  her  what  I  wished  her  to 
do,  what  was  at  stake,  everything  but  that  1  loved  you; 
laving  mv  interest  ni)oii   humanitv  and   to  vour  havin^• 
saved  my  father's  life.     She  looked  troubled  at  once,  and 
then  t()ok  my  face  in  lier  hands.     'Dear  child,'  she  said, 
'  1  understand.     You  have  sorrow  too  young — too  young.'' 
'P)Ut  you  will  do  tiiis  for  me?' I  cried.     She  shook  her 
head  sadly.     '  I  can  not.     I  am  lame  these  two  days,' slie 
answered.     '  T  have  had  a  sprain.'     I  sank  on  the  floor  be- 
side her,  sick  and  dazt^d.     She  put  ]\er  hand  pitifully  on 
my  head,  then  lifted  up  my  chin,      fjooking  into  her  eyes, 
I  read  a  thought  there,  and  1  got  to  my  feet  with  a  spi'ing. 
'  I  mvself  will  a'o,'  said  1  ;  '  I  will  dance  there  till  the  (Jen- 
eral  comes.'     She  put  out  her    hand    in    protest.     '  Vou 
must  not,' she  nrged.     'Think:  you   may  be  discovered, 
and  then  the  ruin  that  must  come  I' 

'"]    shall   ])ut  my  tiaist  in   (Jod,' said  1.     'T   have  no 
fear.     1  will  do  this  thing.'     She  caught  me  to  her  breast. 


A  DANSEUSE   AND  THE  BASTILE. 


225 


0  indeed ; 
!se  lessons 
inew  how 
it  it  down 
vo  me  new 

0  Cenerul 
:  I  would 

0  Intend- 
,  keeping 
ls  sure  he 
d  a  gener- 
ro.'id  lit  {I 
)ugiit  Ma- 
proteetoi', 
[is  paliiee. 

was  Ivii'.'^ 
led  lier  to 
oved  you ; 
Lir  having 
once,  and 
'  she  said, 
10  young.'' 
diook  luT 
davs 'slic 
e  floor  he- 
itifully  on 
)  her  eyes, 

1  a  s])i'iiig. 
1  the  (I'en- 
=;t.  '  You 
.iscovercd, 

[  have  U(» 
icr  breast. 


i 


'  Then  God  bo  with  you,  child,'  was  her  answer ;  '  you 
sludl  do  it.'  In  ten  minutes  I  was  dressed  in  a  gown  of 
hers,  which  last  had  been  worn  when  she  danced  before 
King  Louis.  It  litted  me  well,  and  with  the  wig  the 
colour  of  her  hair,  brought  quickly  from  her  boxes,  and 
use  of  paints  which  actors  use,  I  was  transformed.  In- 
deed, I  coi'ld  scarce  recognize  myself  without  the  mask, 
and  with  it  on  my  mother  would  not  have  known  me. 
'I  will  go  with  you,'  she  said  to  me,  and  she  hurriedly  put 
on  an  old  woman's  wig  and  a  long  cloak,  quickly  lined 
her  face,  and  we  were  ready.  Slie  walked  lame,  and  must 
use  a  stick,  and  we  issued  forth  towards  the  Intendance, 
]\Iathilde  remaining  behind. 

"AVhen  we  got  to  the  palace,  and  were  admitted,  I 
asked  for  the  Intendant's  valet,  and  we  stood  waiting  in 
tlie  cold  hall  until  he  was  brought.  '  We  come  from  Voban 
the  barber,'  I  whispered  to  hiui,  for  there  were  servants 
near ;  and  ho  led  us  at  once  to  his  private  room.  lie  did 
iu)t  recognize  me,  but  looked  at  us  with  sidelong  curiosity. 
'  I  am,'  said  I,  throwing  back  my  cloak,  '  a  dancer,  and  I 
have  come  to  dance  before  the  Intendant  and  his  guests.' 
'His  Excellency  does  not  expect  you?' he  asked.  'His 
Excellency  has  many  times  asked  Madame  Jamond  to 
dance  before  him,'  I  replied.  He  was  at  once  all  com- 
plaisance, but  his  face  was  troubled.  '  You  come  from 
Monsieur  Voban  ? '  lie  inquired.  '  Ei'om  ^Monsieur  Voban,' 
answered  I.  '  lie  has  gone  to  General  Montcalm.'  His 
face  fell,  and  a  kin<l  of  fear  passed  over  it.  '  There  is  no 
peril  to  any  one  save  the  English  gentleman,'  I  urged.  A 
light  dawned  on  him.  'You  dance  until  the  General 
comes?'  he  asked,  i)leas('d  at  his  own  penetration.  'You 
will  take  me  at  once  to  the  diiiing-hall,'  said  I,  nodding. 
'  They  are  in  the  Chambrc  de  la  Joie,'  he  rejoined.  '  Then 
the  Chamber  de  la  Joie,'  said  I;  and  he  led  the  way. 
When  we  came  near  to  the  chamber  I  said  to  him,  '  Y^ou 


22G 


THE  SEATS  OP  THE  MIGHTY. 


will  tell  the  Iiitendaiit  that  a  lady  of  some  gifts  in  danc- 
ing would  entertain  his  guests ;  but  she  must  come  and 
go  without  exchange  of  individual  courtesies  and  at  her 
own  will. 

"  He  opened  the  door  of  the  chamber,  and  we  followed 
him;  for  just  inside  there  was  a  large  oak  screen,  and 
from  its  shadow  we  could  see  the  room  and  all  therein. 
At  the  first  glance  I  shrank  back,  for,  apart  from  the 
noise  and  the  clattering  of  tongues,  such  a  riot  of  carousal 
I  have  never  seen.  I  was  shocked  to  note  gentlemen 
whom  I  had  met  in  socii-tv,  with  the  shoAV  of  decorum 
about  them,  loosed  now  from  all  restraint,  and  swagger- 
ing like  woodsmen  at  a  fair.  I  felt  a  sudden  fear,  and 
drew  jack  sick ;  but  that  was  for  an  instant,  for  even  as 
the  valet  came  to  the  Intendant's  chair  a  dozen  or  more 
men,  who  were  sitting  together  in  noisy  yet  half-secret 
conference,  rose  to  their  feet,  each  with  a  mask  in  his 
hand,  and  started  towards  the  door.  I  felt  the  blood  fly 
back  and  forth  in  my  heavt  with  great  violence,  and  I 
leaned  against  the  oak  screen  for  support.  '  Courage  I ' 
said  tlie  voice  of  Jamond  in  my  ear,  VAid  I  ruled  myself 
to  quietness. 

"  Just  then  the  Intendant's  voice  stopped  the  men  in 
their  movement  towards  the  great  entrance  door,  and 
drew  the  attention  of  the  whole  company.  '  Messieurs,' 
said  he,  '  a  lady  has  come  to  dance  for  us.  She  makes 
conditions  which  must  be  respected.  She  must  be  let  to 
come  and  go  without  individual  courtesies.  Messieurs,' 
he  added,  '  I  grant  her  request  in  your  name  and  my 
own.' 

"There  was  a  murmur  of  'Jamond!  Jamond!'  and 
every  man  stood  looking  towards  the  great  entrance  door. 
The  Intendant,  however,  was  gazing  towards  the  door 
where  I  was,  and  I  saw  he  was  about  to  come,  as  if  to  wel- 
come me.     Welcome  from  Francois  Biirot  to  a  dancinof- 


ill  danc- 
jonio  tiiid 
id  at  her 

followed 
reen,  and 
therein, 
from  the 
:  carousal 
entlemcn 
decorum 
swagger- 
fear,  and 
r  even  as 
L  or  more 
alf-secrot 
k  in  his 
blood  fly 
:e,  and  I 
'Ourage  I ' 
3d  myself 

)  men  in 
oor,  and 
'essieurs,' 
le  makes 

be  let  to 
'essieurs,' 

and  my 

ul ! '  and 
nee  door, 
the  door 
if  to  wel- 
dancing- 


A  DANSEITSE  AND  THE  BASTILE. 


227 


woman !  I  slipped  off  the  cloak,  looked  at  Jamond,  who 
murmured  once  again,  '  Courage ! '  and  then  I  stepped  out 
swiftly,  and  made  for  a  low,  large  dais  at  one  side  of  the 
room.  I  was  so  nervous  that  I  knew  not  how  I  went. 
The  faces  and  forms  of  the  company  were  blurred  before 
me,  and  the  lights  shook  and  multiplied  distractedly. 
Tlie  room  shone  brilliantly,  yet  just  under  tlie  great  can- 
opy, over  the  dais,  there  were  shadows,  and  they  seemed 
to  me,  as  I  stepped  under  the  red  velvet,  a  relief,  a  sort 
of  hiding-place  from  innumerable  candles  and  hot,  unnat- 
ural eyes. 

"  Once  there  I  was  changed.  I  did  not  think  of  the 
applause  that  greeted  me,  the  murmurs  of  surprise,  ap- 
probation, questioning,  rising  round  me.  Suddenly  as  I 
paused  and  faced  them  all,  nervousness  passed  out  of  me, 
and  I  saw  nothing — nothing  but  a  sort  of  far-olf  picture. 
^[y  mind  was  caught  away  into  that  world  which  I  had 
created  for  myself  when  I  danced,  and  these  rude  gentle- 
men were  but  visions.  All  sense  of  indignity  passed  from 
me.  I  was  only  a  woman  fighting  for  a  life  and  for  her 
own  and  another's  happiness. 

"As  I  danced  I  did  not  know  how  time  passed — jnly 
that  I  must  keep  those  men  where  they  were  till  General 
^lontcalm  came.  After  a  while,  when  the  first  dazed 
feeling  had  passed,  I  could  see  their  faces  plainly  through 
my  mask,  and  I  knew  that  I  could  hold  them  ;  for  they 
ceased  to  lift  their  glasses,  and  stood  watching  me,  some- 
times so  silent  that  I  could  hear  their  breathing  only, 
sometimes  making  a  great  applause,  which  passed  into 
silence  agiiin  quickly.  Once,  as  I  wheeled,  I  caught  the 
eyes  of  Jamond  watchino:  me  closely.  The  Intendant 
never  stirred  from  his  seat,  and  scarcely  moved,  but  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  on  me.  Xor  did  he  applaud.  There  was 
sometliing  painful  in  his  immovability. 

"  I  saw  it  all  as  in  a  dream,  yet  I  did  see  it,  and  I  was 


228 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


resolute  to  ti-iumph  over  the  wicked  designs  of  buse  and 
abandoned  men.  I  feared  that  my  power  to  hold  them 
nuglit  sto[)  before  help  eame.  Onee,  in  a  slight  ])ause, 
when  a  great  noise  of  their  hands  and  a  rattling  of  scab- 
bards on  the  table  gave  me  a  short  respite,  some  one — 
Captain  Lancy,  I  thiidv — snatched  up  a  glass,  and  called 
on  all  to  driidv  my  health. 

"'Jamond!  Jamond!'  was  the  cry,  and  they  drank, 
the  Intendant  himself  standing  u}),  and  touching  the  glass 
to  his  lips,  then  sitting  down  again,  silent  and  immovable 
as  before.  One  gentlemim,  a  nephew  of  the  Ciievidier  de 
la  Darante,  came  swaying  towards  me  with  a  glass  of  wine, 
begging  me  in  a  llippant  courtesy  to  drink;  but  I  waved 
him  back,  and  the  Intenihmt  said  most  curtly,  '  ^lonsieur 
de  la  Darante  will  remember  my  injunction.' 

"  xVgain  I  danced,  aiul  I  can  not  tell  you  with  what 
anxietv  and  desperation  ! — for  there  must  be  an  end  to  it 
before  long,  and  your  peril,  liobert,  come  again,  unless 
these  rougli  fellows  elianged  their  minds.  Moment  after 
moment  went,  aiul  though  I  had  danced  beyond  reason- 
able limits.  T  still  seemed  to  get  new  strength,  as  I  hav(? 
heard  men  s;iy,  in  iigliting,  they  'come  to  their  second 
wiiul.'  At  last,  at  the  end  of  the  most  famous  step  that 
Jamoiul  had  tauglit  me,  1  stood  still  for  a  moment  to  re- 
newed ap[tlause;  and  I  must  have  wound  these  men  up 
to  excitement  beyond  all  sense,  for  they  would  not  be  dis- 
suaded, but  swarmed  towards  the  dais  where  I  was,  and 
some  calleil  on  me  to  remove  my  mask. 

"Then  tlie  rntendant  came  down  among  them,  bid- 
ding them  stand  l)ack,  and  himself  moved  towards  me.  I 
felt  afTright(Ml,  for  I  liked  not  the  look  in  his  eyes,  and  so, 
without  a  word,  I  stepped  down  from  the  dais— I  did  not 
dare  to  speak,  lest  they  should  recognize  my  voice— and 
made  for  the  door  with  as  much  dignity  as  I  might.  But 
the  Intendant  came  quickly  to  me  with  a  mannered  court- 


A   DANSEUSE   AND   THE  BASTILE. 


220 


juse  and 
Id  them 
t  pause, 
of  scab- 
e  one — 
id  called 

1  drank, 
^lie  glass 
movable 
I'alier  de 
of  wine, 
I  waved 
lonsieur 

itli  what 
ind  to  it 
1,  unless 
lit  after 
reason- 
's I  have 
•  second 
te])  that 
nt  to  re- 
men  up 
t  be  dis- 
rt'as,  and 

2m,  bid- 
3  me.  I 
,  and  so, 
did  not 
ce — and 
it.  But 
id  court- 


esy, and  said  in  my  ear,  '  Madame,  you  have  won  all  our 
hearts;  will  you  not  accept  some  hospitality — a  glass  of 
wine  and  a  wing  of  partridge,  in  a  room  where  none  sliall 
disturb  you?'  I  shuddered,  and  passed  on.  '  Nay,  nay, 
madame,  not  even  myself  with  you,  unless  you  would  have 
it  otherwise,'  he  added. 

"  Still  I  did  not  speak,  but  put  out  my  hand  in  pro- 
test, and  moved  on  towards  the  screen,  we  two  alone,  for 
the  others  had  fallen  back  with  whisperings  and  side- 
speeches.  Oh,  how  I  longed  to  take  the  mask  from  my 
face  and  spurn  them  !  The  hand  that  I  put  out  in  protest 
the  Intendant  caught  within  his  ovm,  and  would  have 
held  it,  but  that  I  drew  it  back  with  indignation,  and 
kept  on  towards  the  screen.  Then  I  realized  that  a  new- 
comer had  seen  the  matter,  and  I  stopped  short,  dum- 
founded — for  it  was  Monsieur  Doltaire  !  lie  was  stand- 
ing beside  the  screen,  just  within  the  room,  and  he  sent 
at  the  Intendant  and  myself  a  keen,  piercing  glance. 

"  Now  he  came  forward  quickly,  for  the  Intendant  also 
half  stopped  at  sight  of  him,  and  a  malignant  look  shot 
from  his  eyes ;  hatred  showed  in  the  profane  word  that 
was  chopped  off  at  his  teeth.  When  Monsieur  Doltaire 
reached  us,  he  said,  his  eyes  resting  on  me  with  intense 
scrutiny,  '  Ilis  Excellency  will  present  me  to  his  distin- 
guished entertainer?'  He  seemed  to  read  behind  my 
mask.  I  knew  he  had  discovered  me,  and  my  heart  stood 
stilL  But  I  raised  my  eyes  and  met  his  gaze  steadily. 
The  worst  had  come.  Well,  I  would  face  it  now.  I 
could  endure  defeat  with  courage,  lie  paused  an  instant, 
a  strange  look  passed  over  his  face,  his  eyes  got  hard  and 
very  brilliant,  and  he  continued  (oh,  what  suspense  that 
was  !) :  '  Ah  yes,  I  see — Jamond,  the  perfect  and  wonder- 
ful Jamond,  who  set  us  all  a-kneeling  at  Versailles.  If 
madame  will  permit  me  ? '  He  made  to  take  my  hand. 
Here  the  Intendant  interposed,  putting  out  his  hand 
IG 


230 


THE   SEATS   OF  THE  MKWITV. 


also.  '  1  luive  j)i'<)iiiisc'cl  to  protect  iiuuhiino  from  indi- 
yiduul  courtesy  wliilo  liero,'  lie*  stiitl.  Monsieur  Doltiiire 
looked  at  him  keenly.  '  Then  your  Excellency  must  build 
stone  walls  about  yourself,'  he  rejoined,  with  cold  em])ha- 
sis.  'Sometimes  great  men  are  foo'ish.  To-night  your- 
Excellency  would  have  let' — here  he  raised  his  voice  so 
that  all  could  liear — 'your  Excellency  would  have  let  a 
dozen  cowardly  gentlemen  drag  a  dying  prisoner  from  his 
prison,  forcing  back  his  Majesty's  ollicers  at  the  dungeon 
doors,  and,  aftec  baiting,  have  matched  him  against  a 
common  ciiminal.  That  was  unseemly  in  a  great  man 
and  a  King's  chif  I  olhcer,  the  trick  of  a  low  law-breakei-. 
Your  Excellency  promised  a  lady  lo  protect  her  from 
individual  courtesy,  if  she  gave  pleasure — a  ])leasure  be- 
yond price — to  you  and  your  guests,  and  you  would  hjive 
broken  your  word  without  remorse.  General  Moiitcalm 
has  sent  a  company  of  men  to  set  your  Excellency  right 
•t  1  on(^  direction,  and  I  am  come  to  set  you  right  in  the 
other.' 

"The  Intendant  was  white  with  rage,  lie  muttered 
*5omething  between  his  teeth,  then  said  aloud,  '  Presently 
we  will  talk  more  of  thi^,  monsieur.  You  measure 
strength  with  Franc/ois  Bigot :  we  will  see  winch  proves 
the  stronger  in  the  end.'  'In  the  end  the  unj'ist  steward 
kneels  for  mercy  to  his  master,'  was  Monsieur  Doltaire's 
quiet  answer;  and  then  he  made  a  cou'teous  gesture 
towards  the  door,  aiul  T  went  to  it  with  him  slowly,  won- 
dering what  the  end  would  he.  Once  at  the  other  side  of 
the  screen,  he  peered  iiu.o  Jamomrs  face  for  an  instant, 
then  he  gave  a  low  whisth.  '  Y^ou  have  an  apt  pupil,  Ja- 
moiul,  one  who  miglit  he  your  rival  one  day,'  said  he. 
Still  thei'e  was  a  puzzled  look  on  his  face,  wnich  did  not 
leave  it  till  he  saw  Jamond  walking.  'Ah  yes,'  he  added, 
'  I  see  now.  Y'ou  are  lame.  This  was  a  desperate  jet  suc- 
cessful expedient.' 


)iu  iiitli- 

Doltaire 

Dst  build 

I  oinj)hji- 

ght  your- 

voice  so 

live  let  a 

from  his 

dungeon 

igainst  ti 

reat  man 

'-breaker. 

Iier   from 

asure  be- 

ould  have 

VI  on  t  calm 

!ncy  right 

it  in  tlie 


muttered 
Presently 
measure 
h  proves 
t  steward 
Doltaire's 


? 


gesture 
wly,  won- 
er  side  of 
w  iustant, 
pnpil,  da- 
said  he. 
h  did  not 
he  addf'd, 
;e  vet  sue- 


A   DANSEUSE   AND  TIFE   BASTILR. 


231 


"  Tie  did  not  speak  to  me,  but  led  the  way  to  where,  at 
the  great  door,  was  the  Intendant's  valet  standing  witli 
my  cloak.  Taking  it  from  him,  he  put  it  round  luy 
shoulders.  '  The  sleigh  by  which  I  came  is  at  the  door,' 
he  said,  'and  I  will  take  you  home.'  1  knew  not  wluit  to 
do,  for  I  feared  some  des})erate  act  on  his  part  to  possess 
me.  I  determined  tliat  1  would  not  leave  Janiond,  in  any 
case,  aiul  I  felt  for  a  weapon  which  I  had  hidden  in  my 
dress.  We  had  not,  however,  gone  a  half  dozen  paces  in 
the  entran'',e  hall  '.vhen  iliere  were  quick  steps  behind, 
and  four  soldiers  came  towards  lis,  with  an  ollicer  at  their 
head — an  otlicer  whom  I  had  seen  in  the  chamber,  but  did 
not  recognize. 

" '  Monsieur  Doltaire,'  the  officer  said  ;  and  monsieur 
stopped.    Then  he  cried  in  surprise,  '  Legrand,  you  here! ' 
To  this  the  ollicer  replied  by  handing  monsieur  a  paper. 
Monsieur's  hand  dropped  to  his  sword,  but  in  a  momeiit 
he  gave  a  short,  sharj)  Uiiigh,  and  opened  up  the  packet. 
'  Il'm,'  he  said,  '  the  Bastile  !     The  Grande  Marquise  is 
fretful — eh,  Legrand  ?   You  will  permit  me  some  moments 
with  these  ladies  ? '  he  added.   '  A  moment  only,'  answered 
the  officer.     '  In  another  roon.  ? '  monsieur  agaiji  asked. 
'A  moment  where  you   are,  monsieur,'  was   the   reply. 
Making  a  polite  gesture  for  me  to  step  aside,  Monsieur 
Doltaire  said,  in  a  voice  which  was  perfectly  controlled 
and  courteous,  though  I  could  hear  behind  all  a  deadly 
emphasis,  '  I  know  everything  now.     You  have  foiled  me, 
blindfolded  me  and  all  others  tliese  three  years  past.    You 
have  intrigued  against  the  captains  of  intrigue,  you  have 
matched  yourself  against  practised   astnteness.     On  one 
side  I  resent  being  made  a  fool  and  tool  of ;  on  the  other, 
I  am  lost  in  admiration  of  your  talent.     But  henceforth 
there  is  no  sucli  Miing  as  quarter  between  us.     Your  lover 
sliall   die,    and   I   will  come  again.      This  whim  of  the 
Grande  Marquise  will  last  but  till  I  see  her;  then  I  will 


232 


TlIK  SKATS   OF  TllH   MKJllTV 


return  to  vou — forever.  Your  lover  sluill  die,  your  love's 
labour  for  him  shall  be  lost.  1  shiiU  reap  where  1  did  not 
sow — his  harvest  and  my  own.  1  am  as  ice  to  you,  made- 
moiselle, at  this  moment;  I  iuive  murder  in  my  heart. 
Yet  warmth  will  come  again.  I  admire  you  so  much  that 
I  wlP  have  you  for  my  own,  or  die.  You  are  the  high 
priestess  of  diplomacy ;  your  brain  is  a  statesman's,  your 
heart  is  a  vagrant;  it  goes  coveilly  from  the  sweet  mead- 
ows of  France  to  the  marshes  of  England,  a  taste  un- 
worthy of  you.  You  shall  be  redeemed  from  that  l)y 
Tinoir  Doltaire.  Now  thank  me  for  all  I  have  done  for 
you,  and  let  me  say  adieu.'  lie  stooped  and  kissed  my 
liand.  '  I  can  not  thank  you  for  what  I  myself  achieved,' 
I  said.  '  We  are,  as  in  the  past,  to  be  at  war,  you  threaten, 
and  I  have  no  gratitude.'  '  Well,  well,  adieu  and  an  re- 
voir,  sweetheart,'  he  answered.  '  If  1  should  go  to  the 
Bastile,  I  shall  have  food  for  thought;  and  1  am  your 
hunter  to  the  end  !  In  this  good  orchard  I  pick  sweet 
fruit  one  day.'  llis  look  fell  on  me  in  such  a  way  that 
shame  and  anger  were  at  equal  height  in  me.  Then  In; 
bowed  again  to  me  and  to  Jamond,  and,  with  a  sedate 
gesture,  walked  away  with  the  soldiers  and  the  officer. 

•■'  You  can  guess  what  were  my  feelings.  Yon  were 
safe  for  the  moment — that  was  tlie  great  thing.  The  ter- 
ror I  had  felt  when  I  saw  Monsieur  Doltaire  in  the  Charn- 
bre  de  la  Joie  had  passed,  for  I  felt  he  would  not  betray 
me.  He  is  your  foe,  and  he  would  kill  yon;  but  I  was 
sure  he  would  not  put  me  in  danger  while  he  was  absent 
in  France — if  he  expected  to  return — by  making  public 
my  love  for  you  and  my  adventnre  at  the  palace.  There 
is  something  of  the  noble  fighter  in  him,  after  all,  though 
he  is  so  evil  a  man.  A  prisoner  himself  now,  he  would 
have  no  immediate  means  to  hasten  your  death.  But 
I  can  never  forget  his  searching,  cruel  look  when  he  rec- 
ognized me !      Of  Jamond  I  was   snre.      Her   own  past 


I 


If 


A   DAXSEUSE  AND  THE   BASTILR. 


233 


our  love's 
1  (lid  not 

on,  iiijule- 

iiiy   lu'urt. 

miL'h  tliiit 
tlio  lii<^di 

au's,  your 

L'l't    IHL'lui- 

tiisio   Ull- 

1  tluit  by 
c  done  for 
kissed  my 

iiehieved,' 
I  th rente n, 
md  (tii  re- 

go  to  the 
.  am  your 
lick  sweet 
a  way  that 
Then  he 
li  a  sedate 
officer. 
Yon  were 
The  ter- 
the  C.harn- 
!iot  betray 
but  I  was 
vas  absent 
ng  public 
:e.  IMiere 
,11,  thou^^li 

he  would 
ath.  But 
3n  he  rec- 

own  pa.-:! 


J 


I 


liad  been  full  of  sorrow,  and  her  life  was  now  so  secluded 
and  religious  tluit  I  could  not  doubt  her.  Indeed,  wo 
iiave  been  blessed  with  good,  true  friends,  Itobert,  though 
tlicy  are  not  of  those  who  are  ])owerful,  save  in  their 
loyalty." 

Alixe  then  told  nic  that  the  officer  Legrand  had  ar- 
rived from  France  but  two  days  before  the  eventful  niglit 
of  whieii  i  have  just  written,  armed  with  an  order  from  the 
(jirande  Manpiise  for  Doltaire's  arrest  and  transportation. 
Jle  had  landed  at  (Jaspe,  and  had  come  on  to  Quebec 
overland.  Arriving  at  the  Intendance,  he  had  awaited  J)ol- 
taire's  coming.  Doltairo  had  stopped  to  visit  (General 
Montcalm  at  .Montmorenci  Falls,  on  his  way  back  from 
an  expedition  to  the  Enghsli  country,  and  had  thus  him- 
self brought  my  i)rote(!tion  and  hurried  to  his  own  undo- 
ing. 1  was  thankful  for  his  downfall,  though  1  believed 
it  was  but  for  a  moment. 

f  was  curious  to  kno'v  hov/  it  chanced  1  was  set  free  of 
my  dungeon,  and  I  had  tliu  story  from  Alixe's  lips ;  but 
not  till  after  I  had  urged  her,  for  she  was  sure  her  tale 
had  wearied  me,  and  she  was  eager  to  do  little  offices  of 
comfort  about  me;  telling  me  gaily,  while  she  shaded  the 
light,  freshened  my  pillow,  and  gave  me  a  cordial  to  drink, 
tliat  she  would  secretly  convey  me  wines  and  preserves 
and  jellies  and  such  kickshaws,  that  1  should  better  get 
mv  streno-th. 

"  For  you  must  know,"  she  said,  "  that  though  this 
gray  hair  and  transparency  of  flesh  become  you,  making 
your  eyes  look  like  two  jets  of  flame  and  your  face  to  have 
shadows  most  theatrical,  a  ruddy  cheek  and  a  stout  hand 
are  more  suited  to  a  soldier.  A\'hen  you  are  young  ag;iin 
in  body  these  gray  hairs  shall  render  you  distinguished." 

Then  she  sat  down  beside  me,  and  clasped  my  hand, 
now  looking  out  into  the  clear  light  of  afternoon  to  the 
farther  shores  of  Levis,  showing  green  here  and   there 


2U 


Till-:  SKATS  OF  TIIK   MKIIITY. 


from  a  sudden  "Miirch  rjiiii,  tlit^  boundless  forests  beyond, 
uihI  tlu^  umple  St.  Liiwrence  still  covered  with  its  vast 
bridge  of  ice  ;  jinon  into  my  face,  wliile  I  gtized  into 
those  deeps  of  her  blue  eyes  that  1  had  drowned  my  heart 
in.  I  loved  to  watch  her,  for  with  me  she  was  ever  her 
own  absolute  self,  free  from  all  artitice,  lost  in  her  perfect 
naturalness:  a  healthy,  ({uiet  soundness,  a  pi'iiuitive  sim- 
jdicity  beneath  the  ai'titice  of  usual  life.  She  had  a 
beautiful  hand,  louij^,  wat'in,  and  firm,  and  tlu^  lingers, 
when  they  clasped,  seemed  to  possess  and  inclose  your 
own — the  tenderness  of  the  maideidy,  the  protec^tiveru'ss 
of  the  maternal.  She  carried  with  her  a  wholesome  fra- 
<rrai)('c  and  beauty,  as  of  an  orchanl,  and  while  she  sat 
there  I  thonn^ht  of  the  enga,L,Mng  wortis : 

"  T/iou  (iri  1(1  nir  li/rf  (i  bi(sh'ct  of  svinnicr  fniif.  and  I 
src/i  tlicv  in  tliji  cdltdijc  Inj  the  I'lncyiird^  fenced  about  with 
(jiiud  i<))}nnendable  trees.'''' 

Of  my  release  she  spoke  thus:  "  Monsieur  Doltairc  is 
to  be  conveyed  overland  to  the  coast  en  route  for  France, 
and  he  has  sent  lut;  by  his  valet  a  small  arrow  studded 
with  emeralds  and  ])(.'arls,  and  a  skull  all  ])olished,  with 
a  messau'e  that  the  arrow  was  for  mvself,  and  the  skull 
for  another — remembraiu'es  of  the  i)ast,  and  earnests  of 
the  future — truly  an  insolent  and  wicked  man.  When  he 
was  gone  I  w^'ut  to  the  (Governor,  and,  with  show  of  in- 
terest in  many  things  pertaining  to  the  government  (for 
he  has  been  flattered  by  my  attentions — me,  poor  little 
bee  in  the  buzzing  hive!),  came  to  the  question  of  the 
Kiiglish  prisoiuM'.  I  told  him  it  was  I  that  prevented  the 
disgrace  to  his  good  government  by  sending  to  (Jeneral 
Montcalm  to  ask  for  your  protection. 

"  I  To  was  impressed,  and  opened  out  liis  vain  heart 
about  the  state  in  divers  ways.  But  1  may  not  tell  you  of 
these— oidy  what  concerns  yourself;  the  rest  belongs  to 
his  honour.     When  he  was  in  his  most  pliable  mood,  1 


A    DANSKUSR   A XI)  TIIK   nASTTI.K. 


235 


H  beyond, 
I  itH  va.st 
ized  into 
my  hojirt 
v.wr  her 
T  j)erf(M!t 
tivc  sim- 
e  liiid  a 
;  fingers, 
ose  vour 
ctivcncss 
^onR'  frii- 

3    sllO    Silt 

if,  and  [ 

I  out  with 

olt.'iire  is 
r  Franco, 

stnddcd 
led,  Avitli 
the  skull 
rncsts  (if 
Wlien  he 
)w  of  in- 
lent  (for 
3or  little 
n  of  the 
'iited  the 

General 

in  lioai't 

II  vou  of 
longs  to 
mood,  1 


grew  serions  and  told  hirii  there  was  a  danger  whidi  per- 
ha])s  he  did  not  see.  Jlere  was  his  l^lnglish  [»risoner,  who, 
they  «aid  abroad  in  the  town,  was  dying.  There  was 
no  doubt  that  the  King  would  ai>»)i'()V(^  the  sentence'  of 
death,  and  if  it  were  duly  and  with  some  display  enforced, 
it  would  but  add  to  the  (Governor's  re})utation  in  France. 
P)Ut  should  the  prisoner  die  in  cai)tivity,  or  should  he  go 
an  invalid  to  tlu;  scaiTold,  there  would  only  be  pity  excited 
in  the  world  for  him.  For  his  own  hoiujur,  it  were  better 
the  (Jovernor  should  hang  a  robust  i)risoner,  who  in  full 
blood  should  expiate  his  sins  npon  the  scaiTold.  The  ad- 
vice went  down  like  wine;  and  when  he  knew  not  what 
to  do,  1  urged  your  being  brought  here,  put  under  guard, 
and  fed  and  nourished  for  your  end.     And  so  it  was. 

"The  Governor's  counsellor  in  the  matter  will  remain 
a  secret,  for  bv  now  he  will  be  sure  that  he  himself  had 
tlie  sparkling  inspiration.  There,  dear  Robert,  is  the 
])resent  climax  to  many  months  of  suspense  and  perse- 
cution, the  like  of  which  I  hope  I  may  never  see  again. 
ISome  time  I  will  tell  you  all :  those  meetings  with  ^lon- 
sieur  Doltaire,  his  designs  and  approaches,  his  pleadings 
and  veiled  threats,  his  numberless  small  seductions  of 
words,  manners,  and  deeds,  his  singular  changes  of  mood, 
when  I  was  uncertain  what  would  happen  next ;  the  part 
I  had  to  play  to  know  all  that  was  going  on  in  the  Chateau 
St.  Louis,  in  the  Intendance,  and  with  General  ^fontcalm  ; 
the  difficulties  with  my  own  peo])le ;  the  despair  of  my 
poor  father,  who  does  not  know  that  it  is  I  who  have  ke])t 
him  from  trouble  by  my  influence  with  the  (Governor. 
For  since  the  Governor  and  the  Intendant  are  reconciled, 
he  takes  sides  with  General  Montcalm,  the  one  sound 
gentleman  in  ofTice  in  this  poor  country — alas!" 

Soon  afterwards  we  parted.  As  she  jiassed  out  she  told 
me  I  might  at  any  hour  expect  a  visit  from  the  Governor. 


236  THE  SP]ATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


XX. 


IJPOX   THE    RAMPARTS. 

The  Governor  visited  me.  Ilis  tittitnde  was  marked 
by  notlnng  so  much  as  a  supercilious  courtesy,  a  manner 
which  said,  You  must  see  I  am  not  to  be  trifled  with ;  and 
though  I  have  you  here  in  my  chateau,  it  is  that  I  may 
make  a  fine  scorching  of  you  in  the  end.  lie  Aould  make 
of  me  an  example  to  amaze  and  instruct  tho  nations — 
when  I  was  robust  enough  to  die. 

1  might  easily  have  llattered  myself  on  being  an  ob- 
jecj  of  interest  to  the  eyes  of  nations.  I  almost  pitied 
him.  lie  appeared  so  lost  in  self-admiration  that  he 
would  never  see  disaster  when  it  came. 

"  There  is  but  one  master  here  in  Canada,"  he  said, 
"and  I  am  he.  If  things  go  wrong  it  is  because  my 
orders  are  not  obeyed.  Your  peoj)le  have  taken  Louis- 
burg;  had  I  been  there,  it  should  never  have  been  given 
up.  Drucour  wao  hasty — he  listened  to  the  women,  I 
sliould  allow  no  woman  to  move  me.  J  should  be  inflex- 
ible. They  might  send  two  Amhersts  and  two  Wolfes 
against  me,  I  would  hold  my  fortress." 

"  Thev  will  never  send  two,  vour  Excellencv,"  said  I. 

He  did  not  see  the  irony,  and  he  prattled  on  :  "  That 
Wolfe,  they  tell  me,  is  bandy-legged ;  is  no  better  than  a 
girl  at  sea,  and  never  well  ashore.  I  am  always  in  rav/ 
health — the  strong  mind  in  the  potent  body.  Had  I  been 
at  Louisbiirg,  I  should  have  held  it  as  I  held  Ticonderoga 
last  July,  and  drove  the  English  back  with  monstrous 
slaughter." 

Here  was  news.  I  had  had  no  information  in  many 
months,  and  all  at  once  two  great  facts  were  brought 
to  me. 

"  Your  Excellency,  then,  was  at  Ticonderoga  ?  "  said  I. 


UPON  THE  RAMPARTS. 


237 


marked 
manner 
itli ;  and 
it  I  may 
Id  make 
ations — 

y  an  ob- 
it  pitied 
that   he 

he  said, 
luse  my 
1  Louis- 
!n  given 
men.  I 
B  inflex- 
)  Wolfes 

said  I. 
:  "That 
'  than  a 
in  raw 
i  I  been 
nderoga 
3nstroiis 

in  many 
brought 

'  said  1. 


"  I  sent  Montcahn  to  defend  it,"  he  replied  pompously. 
"  I  told  him  how  he  must  act ;  I  was  explicit,  and  it  came 
out  as  I  had  said :  w(^  'vere  victorious.  Yet  he  would 
have  done  better  had  he  obeyed  me  in  everything.  If  I 
had  been  at  Louisburg " 

I  could  not  at  first  bring  myself  to  flatter  the  vice-regal 
peacock ;  for  it  had  been  my  mind  to  fight  these  French- 
men always ;  to  yield  in  nothing ;  to  defeat  them  like  a 
soldier,  not  like  a  juggler.  But  I  brought  myself  to  say, 
half  ironically,  "  If  all  great  men  had  capable  instruments, 
they  would  seldom  fail." 

"  You  have  touched  the  heart  of  the  matter,"  said  he, 
credulously.  "  It  is  a  pity,"  he  added,  with  complacent 
severity,  "  that  you  have  been  so  misguided  and  crimi- 
nal ;  you  have,  in  some  things,  more  sense  than  folly." 

1  bowed,  as  to  a  compliment  from  a  great  man.  Then, 
all  at  once,  I  spoke  to  him  with  an  air  of  apparent  frank- 
ness, and  said  that  if  I  must  die,  I  cared  to  do  so  like  a 
gentleman,  with  some  sort  of  health,  and  not  like  an  in- 
valid. He  must  admit  that  at  least  I  was  no  coward.  He 
might  fence  me  about  with  what  guards  he  chose,  but  I 
prayed  him  to  let  me  walk  upon  the  ramparts,  when  I  was 
strong  enough  to  be  abroad  under  all  due  espionage.  I 
had  already  suffered  many  deaths,  I  said,  and  I  would  go 
to  the  final  one  looking  like  a  man,  and  not  like  an  out- 
cast of  humanitv. 

"  Ah,  I  have  heard  this  before,"  said  he.  "  Monsieur 
Doltaire,  who  is  in  prison  here,  and  is  to  fare  on  to  the 
]5astile,  was  insolent  enough  to  send  me  a  message  yester- 
day that  I  should  keep  you  close  in  your  dungeon.  But 
I  had  had  enough  of  ^[onsieur  Doltaire ;  and,  indeed,  it 
was  through  me  that  the  Grande  Marquise  had  him  called 
to  durance.  He  was  a  muddler  here.  They  must  not 
iiiterfere  with  me  ;  I  am  not  to  be  cajoled  or  crossed  in 
my  plans.    AVe  shall  see,  we  shall  see  about  the  ramparts," 


238 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


he  continued.  "  Meanwliile  prepare  to  die."  This  he 
said  with  such  im])ort{ince  that  I  almost  laughed  in  his 
face.  15ut  J  bowed  with  a  sort  of  awed  submission,  anc 
he  turned  and  left  the  room. 

I  grew  stronger  slowly  day  by  day,  but  it  was  quite  a 
month  before  Alixe  came  again.  Sometimes  I  saw  her 
walking  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  I  was  sure  she  was 
there  that  I  might  see  her,  though  she  made  no  sign  to- 
wards me,  nor  ever  seemed  to  look  towards  my  window. 

Spring  was  now  fully  come.  The  snow  had  gone  from 
the  ground,  the  tender  grass  was  springing,  the  air  was 
soft  and  kiad.  One  fine  day,  at  the  beginning  of  May, 
I  heard  the  booming  of  cannons  and  a  great  shouting, 
and,  looking  out,  I  could  see  crowds  of  people  upon  the 
banks,  and  many  boats  in  the  river,  where  yet  the  ice  had 
not  entirely  broken  up.  By  stretching  from  my  window, 
through  the  bars  of  which  I  could  get  my  head,  but  not 
my  body,  I  noted  a  squadron  sailing  round  the  point  of 
the  Island  of  Orleans.  I  took  it  to  be  a  fleet  from  France 
bearing  re-enforcements  and  supplies — as  indeed  after- 
wards I  found  was  so  ;  but  the  re-enforcements  were  so 
small  and  tlie  supplies  so  limited  that  it  is  said  Montcalm, 
when  he  knew,  cried  out,  "  Now  is  all  lost !  Nothinir  re- 
mains  but  to  flght  and  die.  I  shall  see  my  beloved  Can- 
diac  no  more." 

For  the  first  time  all  the  English  colonies  had  com- 
bined against  Canada.  Vaudreuil  and  Montcalm  were  at 
variance,  and  Vaudreuil  had,  tlirough  his  personal  hatred 
and  envy  of  Montcalm,  signed  the  death-warrant  of  the 
colony  by  writing  to  the  colonial  minister  that  Montcalm's 
agents,  going  for  succour,  were  not  to  be  trusted.  Yet 
at  that  moment  I  did  not  know  these  things,  and  tlie 
sight  made  me  grave,  though  it  made  me  sure  also  that 
this  year  would  find  the  British  battering  this  same  Cha- 
teau. 


This  he 
3(1  in  his 
;iou,  tiud 

s  quite  a 
saw  her 
:  slie  was 
sign  to- 
ndow. 
)ne  from 
air  was 
of  May, 
houting, 
ipon  tlie 
}■  ice  had 
window, 
but  not 
point  of 
1  France 
d  after- 
!  were  so 
ontcalm, 
hing  re- 
^ed  Can- 

lad  com- 
L  were  at 
i\  hatred 
t  of  tlie 
ntcahn's 
3d.  Yet 
and  the 
ilso  that 
ne  Cha- 


H 


<:> 


I 


(i(')i('i'(il   Wolfe. 


\ 


UPON   THE   RAMPARTS. 


239 


Presently  there  came  word  from  the  Governor  that  I 
might  walk  upon  the  ramparts,  and  I  was  taken  forth  for 
several  hours  each  day;  always,  however,  under  strict  sur- 
veillance, my  guards,  well  armed,  attending,  while  the 
ramparts  were,  as  usual,  patrolled  by  soldiers.  I  could 
see  that  amjile  prepai-ations  were  being  made  against  a 
siege,  and  every  day  the  excitement  increased.  I  got  to 
know  more  deiinitely  of  what  was  going  on,  when,  under 
vigilance,  I  was  allowed  to  speak  to  Lieutenant  Stevens, 
who  also  was  permitted  some  such  freedom  as  I  had  en- 
joyed when  I  first  came  to  Quebec,  lie  had  private  infor- 
mation that  General  Wolfe  or  General  Amherst  was  likely 
to  proceed  against  Quebec  from  Louisburg,  and  he  was 
determined  to  join  the  expedition. 

For  months  he  had  been  maturing  plans  for  escape. 
There  was  one  Clark,  a  ship-carpenter  (of  whom  I  have 
before  written),  and  two  other  bold  s|)irits,  who  were  sick 
of  captivity,  and  it  was  intended  to  fare  forth  one  night 
and  make  a  run  for  freedom.  Clark  had  had  a  notable 
plan.  A  wreck  of  several  transports  had  occurred  at 
Belle  Isle,  and  it  was  intended  by  the  authorities  to  send 
him  down  the  river  with  a  sloop  to  bring  back  the  crew, 
and  break  up  the  wreck.  It  was  his  purpose  to  arm  his 
sloop  with  Mr.  Stevens  and  some  English  prisoners  the 
night  before  she  was  to  sail,  and  steal  away  with  her 
down  the  river.  But  whether  or  not  the  authorities  sus- 
})ectod  him,  the  command  was  at  the  last  given  to  an- 
other. 

It  was  proposed,  however,  to  get  away  on  a  dark  night 
to  some  point  on  the  river,  where  a  boat  should  be  sta- 
tioned— though  that  was  a  difficult  matter,  for  the  river 
was  well  patrolled  and  boats  were  scarce — and  drift  quietly 
down  the  stream,  till  a  good  distance  below  the  city.  Mr. 
Stevens  said  he  had  delayed  the  attempt  on  the  faint  hope 
of  fetching  me  along.     Money,  he  said,  was  needed,  for 


240 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


Chirk  aud  aU  were  very  poor,  and  common  necessaries 
were  now  at  exorbitant  prices  in  tlie  country.  Tyranny 
and  robbery  liad  made  corn  and  clothing  luxuries.  All 
the  old  tricks  of  Higot  and  his  La  Friponne,  which,  after 
the  outbreak  the  night  of  my  arrest  at  the  Seigneur  Du- 
varney's,  had  been  somewhat  repressed,  were  in'full  swing 
again,  and  robbery  in  the  name  of  providing  for  defence 
was  the  only  habit. 

I  managed  to  convey  to  Mr.  Stevens  a  good  sum  of 
money,  and  begged  him  to  meet  me  every  day  upon  the 
rampai-ts,  until  I  also  should  see  my  way  to  making  a 
dart  for  freedom.  I  advised  him  in  many  ways,  for  he 
was  more  bold  than  shrewd,  and  I  made  him  j)romise 
that  he  wo')ld  not  tell  Clark  or  the  others  that  I  was 
to  make  trial  to  go  with  them.  I  feared  the  accident  of 
disclosure,  and  any  new  failure  on  my  part  to  get  away 
would,  I  knew,  mean  my  instant  death,  consent  of  King 
or  no  consent. 

One  evening,  a  soldier  entered  my  room,  whom  in 
the  half-darkness  I  did  not  recognize,  till  a  voice  said, 
"  There's  orders  new  !  Not  dungeon  now,  but  this  room 
Governor  bespeaks  for  gentlemen  from  France." 

"  And  where  am  I  to  go,  Gabord  ?  " 

"  Where  yoii  will  have  fighting,"  he  answered. 

"  With  whom  ?  " 

"  Yourself,  alio  !  "  A  queer  smile  crossed  his  lips, 
and  was  followed  by  a  sort  of  sternness.  There  was 
something  graver  in  his  manner  than  I  had  ever  seen. 
I  could  not  guess  his  meaning.  At  last  he  added, 
pulling  roughly  at  his  mustache,  "  And  when  that's 
done,  if  not  \vg\\  done,  to  answer  to  Gabord  the  sol- 
dier ;  for,  God  take  my  soul  without  bed-going,  but  I  will 
call  you  to  account  I  That  Seigneur's  home  is  no  j^lacc 
lor  you." 

"  You  speak  in  riddles,"  said  I.     Then  all  at  once  tlio 


icessaries 
Tyranny 
ies.  All 
ch,  after 
icur  Du- 
ill  swing 
defence 

sum  of 
ipon  tlie 
luking-  u 
s,  for  he 
})ron]ise 
it  I  was 
jident  of 
;:ct  away 
of  King 

ivliom  in 
lice  said, 
his  room 


his  lips, 
lere  was 
'Cr  seen. 

I  added, 

II  tliat's 
the  sol- 
ut  I  will 
no  place 

once  tlio 


i 


UPON  THE  RAMPARTS. 


241 


matter  burst  upon  me.  "  The  Governor  quarters  me  at 
the  Seigneur  Duvarney's  ?  "  1  asked. 

"  No  other,"  answered  he.     "  In  three  days  to  go." 

I  understood  him  now.  lie  had  had  a  struggle, 
knowing  of  the  relations  between  Alixe  and  myself,  to 
avoid  telling  the  Governor  all.  And  now,  if  I  involved 
her,  used  her  to  elfect  my  escape  from  her  father's 
house  !  Even  his  peasant  brain  saw  my  difficulty,  the 
danger  to  my  honour — and  hers.  In  spite  of  the  joy  I 
felt  at  being  near  her,  seeing  her,  I  shrank  from  the 
F.ituation.  If  I  escaped  from  the  Seigncuir  Duvarney's, 
it  would  throw  suspicion  upon  him,  upon  Alixe,  and 
that  made  me  stand  abashed.  Inside  the  Seigneur 
Duvarney's  house  I  should  feel  bound  to  certain  calls 
of  honour  concerning  his  daughter  and  hiuioelf.  I  stood 
long,  thinking,  Gabord  watching  me. 

Finally,  "  Gabord,"  said  I,  "  I  give  you  my  word  of 
honour  that  I  will  not  put  Mademoiselle  or  Monsieur 
Duvarney  in  peril." 

"  You  will  not  try  to  escape  ?  " 

"  Not  to  use  them  for  escape.  To  elude  my  guards, 
to  fight  my  way  to  liberty — yes — yes — yes  !" 

"  But  that  mends  not.  Who's  to  know  the  lady  did 
not  help  you  ?  " 

"  You.     You  are  to  be  my  jailer  again  there  ?  " 

He  nodded,  and  fell  to  pulling  his  mustache.  "  'Tis 
not  enough,"  he  said  decisively. 

"  Come,  then,"  said  I,  "  I  will  strike  a  bargain  with 
you.  If  you  will  grant  me  one  thing,  I  will  give  my 
word  of  honour  not  to  escape  from  the  seigneur's 
house." 

"  Say  on." 

"  You  tell  me  I  am  not  to  go  to  the  seigneur's  for 
three  days  yet.  Arrange  that  mademoiselle  may  come  to 
me  to-morrow  at  dusk — at  six  o'clock,  when  all  the  world 


242 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MICillTV 


dines — mid  1  will  give  my  word.     No  more  do  I  iisk  you 
— only  that.  ' 

''  i)oiie,"  suid  he.     "  It  sliall  be  so." 
"  You  will  fetch  her  yourtielf?  "  I  asked. 
"  On  the  stroke  of  six.     (jJuard  clumges  then." 
Here  our  talk  endetl.     He  went,  and  I  plunged  deep 
into  my  great  1)1;;  \  ;  l'<"'  al    at  onec,  as  we  had  tidked, 
came  athiL4  lo  ih  •  v*  m  ch  i  shall  make  clear  erelong. 
I  set  my  wits  tc  w;    ■       '^nce  since  my  coming  to  the 
chateau   I    had    been   visite::    by   the    English   chaplain, 
who  liad  been  a  prisoner  at  the  citadel  the  year  before. 
He  was  now  on  parole,  and  had  freedom  to  come  and  go 
in  the  town.     Tho  Governor  had  said  he  might  visit  me 
on  a  certain  day  every  week,  at  a  fixed  hour,  and  the 
next  day  at  five  o'clock  was  the  time  appointed  for  his 
second  visit.      CJabord   had   ^iromised  to  bring  Alixe  to 
me  at  six. 

The  following  morning  I  ^'et  j\rr.  Stevens  on  the 
ramparts.  1  told  him  it  was  my  pur})ose  to  escape  the 
next  night,  if  possible.  If  not,  I  must  go  to  the  Seign- 
eur Duvarney's,  where  I  should  be  on  parole — to  Ga- 
bord.  I  bade  him  fulfil  my  wishes  to  the  letter,  for 
on  his  boldness  and  my  own,  and  the  courage  of  his 
men,  I  dej^ended  for  escape.  He  declared  himself  ready 
to  risk  all,  and  die  in  the  attempt,  if  need  be,  for  he 
was  r,\c[\  of  idleness.  lie  could,  he  said,  mature  his  plans 
that  dny,  if  he  had  more  money.  I  gave  him  secretly 
a  small  bag  of  gold,  and  then  I  made  explicit  note  of 
what  I  required  of  him  :  that  he  sliould  tie  up  in  a 
loose  but  safe  bundle  a  sheet,  a  woman's  skirt,  some 
river  grasses  and  reeds,  some  phosi)horus,  a  pistol  and 
a  knife,  and  some  saltpetre  and  other  chemicals.  That 
evening,  about  nine  o'clock,  which  was  the  hour  the 
guard  changed,  he  was  to  tie  this  bundle  to  a  string  I 
should  let  down   from   my  w^indow   and  I  would  draw 


UPON   THE   RAMPARTS. 


243 


iisk  yon 


:cd  deep 
tiilkt'd, 
3re  long. 
J  to  tlie 
haphiin, 
r  before. 
3  and  go 
visit  nio 
and  the 
for  l]is 
ilixe  to 

on  the 
ape  the 
1  Seign- 
-to  Ga- 
ter,  for 
(  of  his 
f  ready 
for  he 
is  phms 
secretly 
note  of 
ip  in  a 
t,  some 
tol  and 
That 
>nr  the 
itring  I 
d  draw 


it  np.  Then,  the  night  following,  the  others  must  steal 
J  way  to  that  place  near  Sillery — the  west  side  of  the 
'►wn  was  always  ill  guarded — and  wait  there  witii  a  boat. 
][e  should  see  nie  at  a  certaii  part  on  the  ranijiarts,  and, 
I  veil  i';rned,  we  also  would   make  our  way  to  Sillery,  and 

"  iVoin  the  spot  called  the  Anse  du  Foulon  drift  down  the 

river  in  the  dead  of  nii^ht. 

He  promised  to  do  all  as  I  wished. 

The  rest  of  the  day  I  spent  in  my  room  fashioning 
strange  toys  out  of  willow  rods.  1  had  got  these  rods 
from  my  guards,  to  make  whistles  for  their  cliildiv  i,  ..  d 
they  had  carried  away  many  of  them.  But  nc^  •,  \-  h 
pieces  of  a  silk  handkerchief  tied  to  the  wl  '  tk  and 
filled  with  air,  I  made  a  toy  which,  when  squeeze  ',  sent 
out  a  weird  lament.  Once,  when  my  guard  m'^  in,  I 
pressed  one  of  these  things  in  my  pocket,  and  it  gave 
forth  a  sort  of  smothered  cry,  like  a  sick  child.  At  this 
he  started,  and  looked  round  the  room  in  trepidation  ; 
for,  of  all  peoples,  these  Canadian  Frenchmen  are  the 
most  superstitious,  and  may  be  worked  on  without  limit. 
The  cry  had  seemed  to  come  from  a  distance.  I  looked 
around  also,  and  appeared  serious,  and  he  asked  me  if  I 
had  heard  the  thing  before. 

"  Once  or  twice,"  said  I. 

"  Then  you  are  a  dead  man,"  said  he ;  "  'tis  a  warn- 
ing, that ! " 

"  Mavbe  it  is  not  I,  but  one  of  you,"  I  answered. 
Then,  with  a  sort  of  hush,  "  Is't  like  the  cry  of  La  Jon- 
gleuse?"  I  added.  (La  Jongleuse  was  their  fabled  witch, 
or  spirit  of  disaster.) 

He  nodded  his  head,  crossed  himself,  mumbled  a 
prayer,  and  turned  to  go,  but  came  back.  "  I'll  fetch  a 
crucifix,"  he  said.  "  You  are  a  heathen,  and  you  brirg 
iier  here.     She  is  the  devil's  dam." 

He  left  with  a  scared  face,  and  I  laughed  to  myself 


:/-^i 


24-t 


TIIR  SEATS  OF  THE   MKHITV, 


quietly,  for  1  sjiw  success  iiliejid  of  luc.  True  to  his  word 
ho  hrouglit  a  onicifix  und  put  it  up — not  where  lie 
wished,  l)ut,  iit  my  request,  opposite  the  (h)or,  upon  i... 
wnU.  lie  crossed  himself  before  it,  smd  wiis  most  de- 
vout. 

It  looked  siijgular  to  see  this  big,  rough  soldier,  who 
WHS  in  most  things  ji  swaggerer,  so  childlike  in  all  that 
touclied  his  religion.  Witli  this  you  could  fetch  him  to 
his  knees;  with  it  1  would  cow  him  that  1  might  myself 
escape. 

At  half  past  five  the  chaplain  came,  having  been  de- 
layed by  the  guard  to  have  his  order  indorsed  by  Captain 
Lancy  of  the  Governor's  household.  To  him  I  told  my 
plans  so  far  as  1  thought  he  should  know  them,  aiul  then 
I  explained  what  I  wished  him  to  do.  lie  was  grave  and 
thoughtful  for  some  minutes,  but  at  last  consented,  lie 
was  a  pious  man,  and  of  as  honest  a  heart  as  I  have  known, 
albeit  narrow  and  confined,  which  sprang  perhaps  from 
his  provincial  practice  and  Ids  theological  cutting  aiul 
trimming.  We  were  in  the  midst  of  a  serious  talk,  where- 
in 1  urged  him  upon  matters  which  shall  presently  be  set 
forth,  when  we  heard  a  noise  outside.  I  begged  him  to 
retire  to  the  alcove  where  my  bed  was,  and  draw  the  cur- 
tain for  a  few  UKments,  nor  come  forth  until  I  called. 
He  did  so,  yet  1  thought  it  hurt  his  sense  of  dignity  to  be 
shifted  to  a  bedroom. 

As  he  disappeared  the  door  opened,  and  Gabord  and 
Alixe  entered.  "  One  half  hour,"  said  Gabord,  and  went 
out  again. 

Presently  Alixe  told  me  her  story. 

"  1  have  not  been  idle,  Robert,  but  I  could  not  act,  for 
my  father  and  mother  suspect  my  love  for  you.  I  have 
come  but  little  to  the  chateau  without  them,  and  1  was 
closely  watched.  I  knew  not  how  the  thing  would  end, 
but  1  kept  up  my  workings  with  the  Governor,  which  is 


UPON   TIIK    IIAMI'ARTS. 


245 


\m  word 
tvhore  he 
upon   I... 

most  (lo- 

(Ucr,  wlio 
11  all  tliiit 
li  him  to 
ht  my  sell' 

been  cle- 
y  Captain 
I  told  my 
and  then 
grave  and 
ited.  lie 
ve  known, 
nips  from 
tting  and 
Ik,  where- 
itly  be  set 
ed  him  to 
V  the  cnr- 

I  called, 
nity  to  be 

ibord  and 
and  went 


ot  act,  for 
1.  I  have 
and  I  was 
ould  end, 
,  which  is 


easier  now  Monsieur  Doltairo  is  gone,  and  I  got  you  the 
freedom  to  walk  upon  tiie  ramparts.  Well,  ouce,  before 
my  father  suspected  me,  I  said  that  if  his  Kxcellency  dis- 
liked your  beiijg  in  the  Chateau,  you  could  be  as  well 
guarded  in  my  father's  house  with  sentinels  always  there, 
until  you  could,  in  better  health,  be  taken  to  the  common 
jail  again.  What  was  my  surprise  when  yesterday  came 
word  to  my  father  that  he  should  nuike  ready  to  receive 
you  as  a  prisoner;  being  sure  th 'the,  his  Kxcelhmcy's 
cousin,  the  father  of  the;  man  you  had  injured,  and  the 
most  loval  of  Frenchmen,  would  jj^uard  vou  dili'^entlv ; 
]i(!  now  needed  all  extra  room  in  the  Chateau  for  the  en- 
ti  'tainment  of  gentlemen  ami  ollicers  lately  come  from 
France. 

"  When  my  father  got  the  news,  he  was  thrown  i!ito 
dismay,  lie  knew  not  what  to  do.  On  what  ground 
could  he  refuse  the  Governor?  Yet  when  he  thought  of 
me  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  do  so.  Again,  on  what  gr(jund 
could  he  refuse  this  boon  to  vou,  to  whom  we  all  owe  the 
blessing  of  his  life?  On  my  brother's  account?  But  my 
brother  has  written  to  my  father  justifying  you,  and  mag- 
nanimously praising  yon  as  a  man,  while  hating  you  as  an 
Tilnglish  soldier.  On  my  account?  But  he  could  not 
give  this  reason  to  the  Governor.  As  for  me,  I  was  silent, 
I  waited — and  I  wait;  I  know  not  what  will  be  the  end. 
Meanwhile  preparations  go  on  to  receive  you." 

I  could  see  that  Alixe's  mood  was  more  tranquil  since 
T^oltaire  was  gone.  A  certain  restlessness  had  vanished. 
Her  manner  had  much  dignity,  and  every  movement  a 
peculiar  grace  and  elegance.  She  was  dressed  in  a  soft 
cloth  of  a  gray  tone,  touched  off  with  red  and  slashed 
with  gold,  iind  a  cloak  of  gray,  trimmed  with  fur,  with 
bright  silver  buckles,  hung  loosely  on  her,  thrown  off  at 
one  shoulder.  There  was  a  sweet  disorder  in  her  hair, 
which  indeed  was  prettiest  when  freest. 
17 


240 


Til  hi   SKATS  OF  TlIK   MIUIITV. 


Wlioji  she  liiid  liiiisluHl  sjK'jikin<^  slic  looked  jit  mo,  as 
I  tiioui^ht,  willi  ii  littK'  aiixit'ty. 

''  Alixc,"  I  siiid,  *"  \\v  have  conio  to  tlie  cross- I'omls,  jind 
the  wjiv  \V(^  (diooso  now  is  for  all  time." 

Slu!  looki'd  up,  stjiitk'd,  yd  <j;oVL'rniMj^^  luTsclf,  and  her 
bund  s()iii,^lit  iiiiiio  and  m-stlcd  tlu'r(\  ''1  fed  llial,  too," 
bIic  ivjjlii'd.     ''  What  is  it,  KobortV" 

"  1  can  not  in  honour  escape  from  v<»ur  father's  liouse. 
I  cun  not  steal  his  daughter,  and  his  safety  too " 

"  Vou  must  escape, "  she  interrupted  tlrndy. 

'^  From  here,  I'rojii  the  citadel,  from  anywhere  but  your 
house  ;  and  so  I  will  not  go  to  it."' 

'^  Vou  will  not  go  to  it?"  she  repented  slowly  and 
strangely.  "  How  may  you  not?  You  are  a  ])risoner.  If 
they  make  my  father  your  jailer "     She  laughed. 


'*  I  owe  that  jailer  and  that  jailer's  daughter- 


i» 


"  Y<)U  owe  them  y(jur  safety  and  your  freedom.  Oh, 
Kobert,  I  know,  1  know  what  you  mean.  Hut  what  eare 
I  what  the  world  may  think  by-and-bye,  or  to-m<n'row,  or 
to-dav?     My  conscience  is  clear." 

'"  Your  father "  I  persisted. 

She  nodded.  "  Yes,  yes,  you  speak  truth,  alas!  And 
yet  you  nnist  be  freed.  And" — here  she  got  to  her  feet, 
and  with  Hashing  eyes  spoke  out — "and  you  shall  be  set 
free.  Let  come  what  will,  I  owe  my  first  duty  to  you, 
though  all  the  world  cliatter ;  and  I  will  not  stir  fr(jm 
that.     As  soon  as  I  can  make  it  possible,  you  shall  escape." 

"  You  shall  have  the  right  to  set  me  free,"  said  T,  *"  if 
T  must  go  to  your  father's  liouse.  Aiul  if  I  do  not  go 
there,  but  out  to  my  own  country,  you  shall  still  have 
the  right  before  all  the  world  to  follow,  or  to  wait  till  I 
come  to  fetch  you." 

"  I  do  not  understiind  you,  IJobert,"  said  she.  "  I  do 
not "  Here  she  broke  olf,  looking,  looking  at  me  wist- 
fully, and  trembling  a  little. 


lit  me,  as 

Gilds,  jind 

',  illld  luT 
luit,  too," 

r's  house. 
^) 

I  but  your 

only  uiid 
soner.  li' 
L^^licd. 


[oni.  Oh, 
w  I  lilt  ciiro 
loiTow,  or 


lis!     And 

I)  lier  feet, 

ill  I   be  set 

y  to  you, 

stir  h'om 

11  esciipe." 

Siiid  I,  'Ml 

do  not  go 

still  hiive 

wiiit  till  I 


e. 


"  1  do 
,t  me  wist- 


UPON  TllK   HAMPAUTS. 


24: 


Then  I  stooped  and  wliisjxMvd  softly  in  her  oar.  She 
jr.'ive  ji  little  cry,  and  dn!\v  biick  I'lom  me;  yet  instiintiy 
luT  hiind  came  out  juul  Ciiught  my  iii'm. 

""  liolx'rt,  liobcirt !  I  etin  not,  I  (hire  not !  "  she  csried 
softly.  ''  No,  no,  it  nniy  not  be,"  she  iidded  in  a  whisper 
of  feiir. 

I  went  to  the  alcove,  drew  biiek  the  eurtiiin,  and  asked 
^fr.  Wtiinileet  to  step  forth. 

"Sir,"  said  1,  picking  up  my  I'myci'  Uook  iind  [tutting 
it  in  his  hands,  "I  beg  you  to  marry  this  lady  and  my- 
self." 

He  piiused,  dazed.  "Marry  you — here — now?"  he 
asked  sluik'»igly. 

"  liefore  ten  minutes  go  round,  this  hidy  must  be  my 
wife,"  said  I. 

"  Mademoiselle  Duvarney,  you "  he  begiin. 

"  Be  pleased,  dear  sir,  to  open  the  book  at  '  117//  Ihoii, 
have^''  "  said  I.  "  The  hidy  is  a  Ciitholic ;  she  has  not 
the  consent  of  her  people  ;  but  when  she  is  my  wife, 
made  so  by  you,  whose  consent  need  we  ask  ?  Ctin  you 
not  tie  us  fiist  enough,  ii  miin  jind  woman  of  sense  suf- 
ficient, but  you  must  pause  hei'e  ?  Is  the  knot  you  tie 
siife  against  ])icking  and  steiding?  " 

1  hiul  touched  his  Viinity  and  his  ecclesiasticism. 
"  Miirried  by  me,"  he  replied,  "  once  chiiphiin  to  the 
Bishop  of  London,  you  luive  a  knot  that  no  sword  cjin 
cut.     1  am  in  lull  orders.     My  parish  is  in  Boston  itself.'* 

"  You  will  h.ind  a  certilicate  to  my  wife  to-morrow, 
ami  you  will  uphold  this  marriiige  iigainst  idl  gossip  ? " 
asked  I. 

"Agiiinst  all  Fnince  and  all  England,"  he  answered, 
roused  now. 

"  Then  come,"  I  urged. 

"  But  I  must  have  a  witness,"  he  interposed,  opening 
the  book. 


248 


TIIR   SKATS   OF   THE    MIGITTY. 


''  You  sluill  liiivo  one  in  duo  tinio,"  said  I.  "  Qo  on. 
Whoi).  the  ni{iri'iiiij:o  is  ])erfornied,  jind  at  the  point  where 
you  siudl  prochiini  us  man  and  wife,  I  will  have  a 
witness." 

I  tuiMied  to  Alixe,  and  found  her  pale  and  troubled. 
"  Oh,  Robert,  Robert  I  "  slie  cried,  "  it  cannot  be.  Now, 
now  I  am  afraid,  for  the  lirst  time  in  my  life,  dear,  the 
jirst  time!" 

"Dearest  lass  in  tlic  world,"  I  said,  *' it  must  be.  I 
sh.'ill  not  go  to  your  father's.  'J'o-murrow  night  I  make 
my  great  stroke  for  freedom,  aiul  when  1  am  free  I  shall 
retui-n  to  fetch  my  wife." 

"  You  will  try  to  escape  from  here  to-morrow  ?  "  she 
aske<l,  her  face  llusliinij:  fmelv. 

"  1  will  escape  or  die,"  I  answered  ;  "but  I  shall  not 
think  of  deatli.  (.*ome — come  and  say  witli  me  that  we 
shall  pa.'t  no  more — in  spirit  no  more  ;  that,  whatever 
comes,  you  and  1  have  fuUillcd  our  great  hope,  though 
under  the  shadow  of  tlie  sword." 

At  that  she  ])ut  her  hiind  in  mine  with  pride  and 
sweetness,  and  said,  "  I  am  ready,  liobert.  I  give  my 
heart,  my  life,  and  my  hoiu)ur  to  you — forever." 

Then,  Avith  simplicity  and  solemnity  she  turned  to  the 
clerirvman  :  "  Sir,  mv  honour  is  also  in  your  hands.  Jf 
you  have  mother  or  sister,  or  true  care  of  souls  upon  you, 
I  pray  you,  in  the  future  act  as  becomes  good  men." 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  [  am  riskiiig  my 
freedom,  ma\be  my  life,  i!i  this;  do  you  Thi?d\ " 

Here  sue  took  his  hand  and  ])resse(l  it.  "Ah,  I 
ask  your  pardon.  I  ;un  of  a  different  faith  from  you, 
and  I  have  known  how  men  forget  when  they  siiouhi 
remember.''  She  smiled  ;it  him  so  }>erfectly  that  he 
drew  himself  up  with  pri(h'. 

"  -Make  haste,  sir,"  said  1.  "  Jailers  are  curious 
folk." 


"  Go  on. 

nt  where 

have   a 

troubled. 
3.  Now, 
dear,  the 

3t  be.  I 
b  I  make 
so  I  shall 

w?"  she 

shall  not 
)  that  we 
whatever 
),  though 

iride  and 


p-ive  mv 


ed  to  the 
ands.  If 
ipon  you, 

sking  my 
If 


"Ah,  I 
rom  vou, 
iy  should 

that   he 

i    curious 


UPON  THE  RAMPARTS. 


2^9 


The  room  was  not  yet  lighted,  the  evenipg  shadows 
were  creeping  in,  aiul  up  out  of  the  town  came  the  rino-. 
iug  of  the  ves})er  bell  from  the  church  of  the  Ilecollets. 
For  a  moment  there  w^as  stillness  in  the  room  and  all 
around  us,  and  then  the  chaplain  began  in  a  low  voice : 

"7  require  and  clutrge  you  both "and  so  on.     In  a 

few  moments  I  had  made  the  great  vow,  and  had  put  on 
AHxe's  finger  a  ring  which  the  clergyman  drew  from  his 
own  hand.  Then  we  knelt  down,  and  I  know  we  botli 
prayed  most  fervently  \\\i\\  the  good  man  that  we  miglit 
*'  ever  remain  in  perfect  love  and  perfect  j)eace  together." 

Rising,  he  paused,  and  I  went  to  the  door  and 
knocked  upon  it.  It  was  opened  by  (Jabord.  "  Come  in, 
Gabord,"  said  I.     "  There  is  a  ■.hing  that  you  must  hear." 

He  stepped  back  and  got  a  light,  and  then  entered, 
holding  it  up  and  shutting  the  door.  A  strange  look 
came  upon  his  face  when  he  saw  the  chaplain,  and  dismay 
followed,  when,  stepping  beside  Alixe,  I  took  her  hand, 
and  Mr.  Wainlleet  declared  us  man  and  wife.  lie  stood 
like  one  dumbfounded,  and  lie  did  not  stir,  as  Alixe, 
turning  to  me,  let  me  kiss  her  on  the  lips,  and  tlien 
went  to  the  crucifix  on  the  wall  and  embraced  the  feet  of 
it,  and  stood  for  a  moment  praying.  Nor  did  he  move 
or  make  a  sii^n  till  she  came  back  and  stood  beside  me. 

"  A  pretty  scene  !  "  he  burst  forth  then  with  anger. 
"  But,  by  God  !  no  marriage  is  it !  " 

Alixe's  hand  tightened  on  my  arm,  and  she  drew 
close  to  me. 

"  A  marriage  that  will  stand  at  Judgment  Day,  Ga- 
bord," said  I. 

"  But  not  in  France  or  here.  'Tis  mating  wild,  with 
end  of  doom." 

"  It  is  a  mnrriage  our  great  Archbishop  at  Lambeth 
Palace  will  uphold  against  a  huiulred  popes  and  kings," 
said  the  cha})lain  with  importance. 


250 


THE  SEATS  OF   THE   MIGHTY. 


*'  You  are  no  priest,  but  holy  peddler  !  "  cried  Gabord 
roughly.  "  This  is  not  mating  as  Christians,  and  fires  of 
hel!  shall  burn — alio  !  I  will  see  you  all  go  down,  and 
hand  of  mine  sliall  not  be  lifted  for  you  I  " 

lie  pulfed  out  his  cheeks,  and  his  great  eyes  rolled 
like  lire-wheels. 

"  Y"ou  are  a  witness  to  this  ceremony,"  said  the  chap- 
lain. "  And  you  shall  answer  to  your  God,  but  you  must 
speak  the  truth  for  tliis  man  and  wife." 

"  Man  and  wife  ?  "  laughed  Gabord  wildly.  "  May  I 
die  and  be  damned  to " 

Like  a  flash  Alixe  was  beside  him,  and  put  to  his  lips 
swiftly  the  little  wooden  cross  that  Mathilde  had  given 
her. 

"  Giibord,  Gabord,"  she  said  in  a  sad  voice,  "  when 
you  may  come  to  die,  a  girl's  prayers  will  be  waiting  at 
God's  feet  for  you." 

He  stopped,  and  stared  at  her.  Jler  hand  lay  on  his 
arm,  and  she  continued  :  "  No  night  gives  me  sleep,  Ga- 
bord, but  I  })ray  for  the  jailer  who  has  been  kind  to  an 
ill-treated  gentleman." 

"A  juggling  gentleman,  that  cheats  Gabord  before 
his  eyes,  and  smuggles  in  mongrel  priest !  "  he  blustered. 

1  waved  my  hand  at  the  chapl.iin,  or  I  think  he  would 
have  put  his  Prayer  Book  to  rougher  use  than  was  its 
wont,  and  I  was  about  to  answer,  but  Alixe  spoke  in- 
stead, and  to  greater  pur|)ose  than  I  could  have  done. 
Iler  whole  mood  changed,  her  face  grew  still  and  proud, 
her  eyes  flashed  bravely. 

"  Gaboi'd,"  she  said,  "  vanity  speaks  in  you  there,  not 
honesty.  No  gentleman  here  is  a  juggler.  Xo  kindness 
you  may  have  done  w.arrants  insolence.  You  have  the 
power  to  bring  great  misery  on  us,  and  you  may  have  the 
will,  l)ut,  by  God's  help,  both  my  husband  and  myself 
shall  be  delivered  from  cruel  hands.     At  any  moment  I 


UPON  THE   RAMPARTS. 


251 


d  Gab  Orel 
d  fires  of 
own,  and 

'es  rolled 

the  chap- 
yoii  must 

"  May  I 

0  his  lips 
lad  given 

!,  "  when 
raiting  at 

ay  on  his 
ileep,  Ga- 
nd  to  an 

•d  before 
liistered. 
he  would 

1  was  its 
i})oke  in- 
ive  done. 
id  proud, 

here,  not 
kindness 
liave  the 
have  the 
d  myself 
loment  I 


i 

f 


may  stand  alone  in  the  world,  friends,  people,  the  Church, 
and  all  the  land  against  me  :  if  you  desire  to  hasten  that 
time,  to  bring  me  to  disaster,  because  you  would  injure 
my  husband  " — how  sweet  the  name  sounded  on  her  lips ! 
— "then  act,  but  do  not  insult  us.  But  no,  no,"  she  broke 
otf  softly,  "  you  spoke  in  temper,  you  meant  it  not,  you 
were  but  vexed  with  us  for  the  moment.  Dear  Gabord," 
she  added,  "  did  we  not  know  that  if  we  had  asked  you 
Ih'st,  you  would  have  refused  us  ?  You  care  so  much  for 
me,  you  would  have  feared  my  linking  life  and  fate  with 
one " 

"  With  one  the  death-man  has  in  hand,  to  pay  price 
for  wicked  deed,"  he  interrupted. 

"  With  one  innocent  of  all  dishonour,  a  gentleman 
wronged  every  way.  Gabord,  you  know  it  is  so,  for  you 
have  guarded  him  ai.\d  fought  with  him,  and  you  are  an 
honourable  gentleman,"  siie  added  gently. 

"  No  gentleman  I,"  he  burst  forth,  "  but  jailer  base, 
and  soldier  born  upon  a  truss  of  hay.  But  honour  is  an 
apple  any  man  may  eat  since  Adam  walked  in  garden. 
.  .  .  'Tis  honest  foe,  here,"  he  continued  magnanimously, 
and  nodded  towards  me. 

"  We  would  have  told  you  all,"  she  said,  "  but  how 
dare  we  involve  you,  or  how  dare  we  tempt  you,  or  how 
dare  we  risk  your  refusal  ?  It  was  love  and  truth  drove 
us  to  this ;  and  God  will  bless  this  mating  as  the  birds 
mate,  even  as  Tie  gives  honour  to  Gabord  who  was  born 
upon  a  truss  of  hay." 

"  Pootn  ! "  said  Gabord,  puffing  out  his  cheeks,  and 
smiling  on  her  with  a  look  half  sour,  and  yet  with  a  dog- 
like fondness,  "  viabord's  mouth  is  shut  till  's  head  is  olf, 
and  then  to  tell  the  tale  to  Twelve  Apostles  ! " 

Through  his  wayward,  illusive  speech  we  found  his 
meaning.  He  would  keep  faith  with  us,  and  be  best  proof 
of  this  marriage,  at  risk  of  his  head  even. 


252 


THE  SEATS  OF   THE  MIGHTY. 


As  we  spoko,  tlie  cluipliiiu  was  writing  in  tlie  blank 
fore-pages  of  the  Prayer  Jiook.  l*resently  he  said  to  nie, 
hiinding  nw  the  pen,  whieh  he  iiad  pieked  from  a  table, 
"Inscribe  your  names  liere.  J t  is  a  rough  record  of  tlie 
ceremony,  but  it  will  sulliee  before  all  men,  when  to-mor- 
row I  have  given  Mistress  ^Moray  another  re(;ord." 

We  wrote  our  names,  and  then  the  pen  was  luinded  to 
Gabord.  Ih)  took  it,  and  at  last,  with  many  nourishes 
antl  ((has,  and  by  dint  of  })uthugs  and  rolling  eyes,  lie 
wrote  his  name  so  large  that  it  lilled  as  much  space  as  the 
other  names  and  all  the  writing,  and  was  indeed  like  a 
hu<j:e  indorsement  across  the  record. 

When  this  was  done,  Alixe  held  out  her  hand  to  him, 
"  Will  you  kiss  me,  dabord?"  she  said. 

The  great  soldier  was  all  taken  back,  lie  flushed  like 
a  schoolboy,  yet  a  big  humour  and  pride  looked  out  of  his 
eyes. 

"  I  owe  you  for  the  sables,  tov»,"  she  said.  "  But  kiss 
me — not  on  my  ears,  as  the  Kussian  count  kissed  Gabord, 
but  on  my  cheek." 

This  won  him  to  our  cause  utterly,  and  I  never  think 
of  Gabord,  as  1  saw  him  last  in  the  sway  and  carnage  of 
battle,  fighting  with  wild  u})roar  and  covered  with  wounds, 
but  the  memory  of  that  moment,  when  he  kissed  my 
youni;  wife,  comes  back  to  me. 

At  that  he  turned  to  leave.  "  I'll  hold  the  door  for 
ten  minutes,"  he  added;  and  bowed  to  the  chaplain,  who 
blessed  us  then  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  smiled  a  little 
\',  my  thaidvs  and  praises  and  purse  of  gold,  and  to  Allxe's 
gratiliitle.  With  lifting  chin — good  lionest  gentleman, 
who  ai'Lcr wards  proved  his  fidelity  and  truth — he  said  that 
lie  w'.Mld  t]!o  to  'i}ilu;l(l  this  sacred  ceremony.  And  so  he 
m.'(  It  ii  iittlf  speech,  \\:<  if  he  had  a  pulpit  round  him,  and 
he  w  u  >k1  up  wit!)  a  heiu'dietion  which  sent  my  dear  girl 
to  team's  aij'!  soft  tremblin<:: 


LA  JONGLEUSE. 


253 


he  bliink 
-id  to  me, 
a  tiiblc, 
ii'd  of  tlie 
1  to-nior- 


J7 


iiiiuled  to 
(loiirislies 
eyes,  he 
Lce  as  tlie 
ed  like  a 

1  to  him, 

shed  like 
)iit  of  his 

But  kiss 
.  Gabord, 


xr  think 

irnage  of 

wounds, 

issed  my 

door  for 
lain,  who 
1  a  little 
:o  Alixc's 
ntleman, 
said  that 
Lud  so  he 
him,  and 
dear  girl 


"  The  Lord  hJess  you  and  keep  you:  the  Lord  muhe  his 
face  to  shine  u^hin  you  ;  tlie  Lord  lift  up  his  countcMance 
upon  you^  and  give  you  reace^  note  and  for  evermore.''^ 

A  moment  afterwards  the  door  olosed,  and  for  ten 
mitiutes  1  looked  into  my  dear  wife's  face,  juid  told  her 
my  plans  for  escape.  When  Gabord  opened  the  door  upon 
us,  we  liad  passed  through  years  of  undei'standing  and  re- 
solve. Our  parting  was  brave — a  bravery  on  her  side  that 
1  do  not  think  any  other  woman  could  match.  She  was 
quivering  with  the  new  life  come  upon  her,  yet  she  was 
self-controlled  ;  she  moved  as  in  a  dream,  yet  I  knew  her 
mind  was  alert,  vigilant,  and  strong;  she  was  aching  with 
thougiit  of  this  separation,  with  the  peril  that  faced  us 
both,  yet  she  carried  a  quiet  joy  in  her  face,  a  tranquil 
gravity  of  bearing. 

"  Whom  God  hath  joined "  said  I  gravely  at  the 

last. 

"  Let  no  man  put  asunder,"  she  answered  softly  and 
solemnlv. 

"  Alio  !  "  said  Gabord,  and  turned  his  head  away. 

Then  the  door  shut  upon  me,  and,  though  I  am  no 
Catholic,  I  have  no  shame  in  saying  that  I  kissed  the  feet 
on  the  crucifix  which  her  lips  had  blessed. 


XXL 


LA    JONGLEUSE. 


At  nine  o'clock  I  was  w^aitini?  bv  the  window,  and 
even  as  a  bugle  sounded  "lights  out"  in  the  barracks 
and  change  of  guard,  I  let  the  string  down.  ^Ir.  Stevens 
shot  round  the  corner  of  the  chateau,  just  as  the  depart- 
ing sentinel  disappeared,  attached  a  bundle  to  the  string, 
and  I  drew  it  up. 


254 


THE  SEATS   OF  THE   MIOnTY. 


"  Is  all  well  ?  "  I  culled  softly  down. 

"All  well,"  said  Mr.  Stevens,  and,  liiigi^in^^  the  wall  of 
the  chateau,  he  sped  away.  In  another  moment  a  new 
sentinel  began  })aeing  up  and  down,  and  I  shut  tlie  win- 
dow and  untied  my  bundle.  All  that  I  had  asked  for  was 
there.  I  iiid  the  things  away  in  the  alcove  and  went  to 
bed  at  once,  for  I  knew  that  I  should  have  no  sleep  on 
the  following  night. 

I  (lid  not  leave  niv  bed  till  the  morniiiij:  was  well  ad- 
vanced.  Once  or  twice  during  the  day  I  brought  my 
guards  in  with  fear  on  their  faces,  the  large  fat  man  more 
distorted  tlian  his  fellow,  by  the  lamentable  sounds  1 
m.de  with  my  willow  toys.  They  crossed  themselves  again 
and  again,  and  I  myself  a])})eared  devout  and  troubled. 
When  we  walked  abroad  during  the  afternoon,  I  chose  to 
loiter  by  the  river  rather  than  walk,  for  I  wished  to  con- 
serve my  strength,  which  was  now  vastly  increased,  though, 
to  mislead  mv  watchers  and  the  authorities,  I  assumed  the 
delicacy  of  an  invalid,  ami  appeared  unfit  for  any  enter- 
prise— no  hard  task,  for  I  was  still  very  thin  and  worn. 

So  I  sat  upon  a  f.vourite  seat  on  the  clilf,  set  against 
a  solitary  tree,  fixed  in  the  rocks.  I  gazed  long  on  the 
river,  and  my  guards,  stoutly  armed,  stood  near,  watching 
me,  and  talking  m  jow  tones.  Kager  to  i;ear  their  gossip 
I  appeared  to  sleep.  They  came  nearer,  and,  facing  me, 
sat  upon  a  large  stone,  and  gossipped  freely  concerning 
ihe  strange  sounds  heard  in  mv  room  at  the  chateau. 

"  See  you,  my  Bamboir,"  said  the  lean  to  tlie  fat  sol- 
dier, "the  British  captain,  he  is  to  be  carried  off  in  burn- 
ing flames  by  that  La  Jongleuse.  We  shall  come  in  one 
morning,  find  a  smell  of  suljdnir  only,  and  a  circle  of 
red  on  the  floor  where  the  im{)s  danced  before  Tia  Jon- 
gleuse   said    to    them,    'I'p    with    him,    darlings,   and 


av»'t>  V 


f ' " 


Al  this  Bamboir  shook  his  head,  and  answered,  "To- 


LA  JONGLEUSE. 


255 


le  wall  of 
lit  a  new 
.  the  wiii- 
d  for  was 
wont  to 
)  sleep  on 

;  well  ad- 
iight  my 
nan  more 
sounds  1 
ives  again 
troubled, 
chose  to 
d  to  con- 
[,  though, 
umed  the 
ny  enter- 
worn, 
t  against 
ig  on  the 
watching 
Mr  gossip 
icing  mo, 
nccrning 
can, 

le  fat  sol- 

in  burn- 

He  in  one 

circle  of 

Tia  Jon- 

ngs,   and 

•od,  ''  To- 


morrow rU  go  to  the  (lovornor  and  toll  him  what's  com- 
ing. j\Iy  wife,  she  falls  upon  my  neck  this  morning.  '  Ar- 
gose,'  she  says,  '  'twill  need  the  bishop  and  his  college  to 
drive  La  Jonglouse  out  of  the  grand  chateau.' " 

"  No  less,"  ro})lied  the  other.  "  A  deacon  and  sacred 
palm  and  sprinkle  of  holy  water  would  do  for  a  cottage, 
or  even  for  a  little  manor  house,  with  twelve  candles 
burning,  and  a  hymn  to  the  Virgin.  But  in  a  king's 
house " 

"  It's  not  the  King's  house." 

"  But  yes,  it  is  the  King's  house,  though  his  Most 
Christian  Majesty  lives  in  France.  The  Marquis  de  Vau- 
dreuil  stands  for  the  King,  and  we  are  sentinels  in  the 
King's  house.  But,  my  faith,  I'd  rather  be  fighting  against 
Frederick,  the  Prussian  boar,  than  watching  this  mad  Eng- 
lishman." 

"But  see  you,  my  brother,  that  Englishman's  a  devil. 
Else  how  has  he  not  been  hanged  long  ago  ?  lie  has  vile 
arts  to  blind  all,  or  he'd  not  be  sitting  there.  It  is  well 
known  that  M'sieu'  Doltaire,  even  the  King's  son — his 
mother  worked  in  the  fields  like  your  Xanette,  Bam- 
boir " 

"  Or  your  Lablanche,  my  friend.  She  has  hard  hands, 
with  wiu'ts,  and  red  knuckles  therefrom " 

"  Or  your  Nr.notte,  Bamboir,  with  nose  that  blisters  in 
the  summer,  as  she  goes  swingeing  flax,  and  swelling  feet 
that  sweat  in  sabots,  and  chin  thrust  out  from  carrying 
pails  upon  her  head " 

"  Av,  like  Nanette  and  like  Lablanche,  this  peasant 
mother  of  M'siou'  Doltaire,  and  maybe  no  such  firm 
breasts  like  Nanette " 

"  Nor  such  an  eve  as  has  Lablanche.  Well,  M'sieu' 
Doltaire,  who  could  override  them  all,  he  could  not  kdl 
this  barbarian.  And  Gabord— you  know  well  how  they 
fought,  and  the  black  horse  and  his  rider  came  and  car- 


256 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


f 


rii'd  him  iiwiiy.  Why,  the  young  ^I'sieii'  DuYiirncy  hud 
liiin  on  liiri  knees,  tlie  bhicle  jit  liis  tlirojit,  iind  ii  sword 
Hush  out  from  tlie  durk — ^they  suy  it  wus  the  devil's — and 
took  liim  in  the  ribs  und  well-nigh  killed  him." 

"  Hut  wluit  SUV  vou  to  Mu'm'sellc  Duvuriu'v  cominsjr  to 
him  that  duy,  und  uguin  yesterday  with  (JabordV" 

"Well,  well,  who  knows,  J)umboir?  This  morning  I 
say  *"^^  Nanette,  '  Why  is't,  all  in  one  moment,  you  send  mo 
to  the  devil,  and  pray  to  meet  mc  in  A!  -uhum's  bosom 
too?'  Whut  think  you  she  answer  me?  Why,  this, 
my  Bumhoir:  '  Why  is't  Adum  loved  his  wife  and  swore 
her  down  before  the  Lord  also,  all  in  one  moment?'  Why 
Ma'm'selle  Duvarney  does  this  or  that  is  not  for  muddy 
brains  like  ours.  It  is  some  whimsy.  They  say  that 
women  are  more  curious  about  the  devil  than  about  St. 
Jean  Huptiste.     I'erhups  she  got  of  him  a  magic  book." 

"  \o,  no  !  If  he  had  the  magic  Petit  Albert,  he  would 
have  turned  us  into  dogs  long  ago.  Hut  I  do  not  like 
him.  He  is  but  thirty  years,  they  say,  and  yet  his  hair  is 
white  as  a  pigeon's  wing.  It  is  not  natural.  Nor  did  he 
ever,  says  Gabord,  do  aught  but  laugh  at  everything  they 
did  to  him.  The  chains  they  put  would  not  stay,  and 
when  he  was  set  against  the  wall  to  be  shot,  the  watches 
stopped — the  minute  of  his  shooting  passed.  Then  ^M'sieu' 
Doltuire  come,  aiul  say  a  man  that  could  do  a  trick  like 
that  should  live  to  do  another.  And  he  did  ic,  for  M'sieu' 
Doltaire  is  gone  to  the  I^astile.  Voycz^  this  Englishman 
is  a  damned  heretic,  and  has  the  wicked  arts." 

"  Hut  see,  Hamboir,  do  you  think  he  can  cast  spells?" 

"  What  mean  those  sounds  from  his  room ! " 

"  So,  po.  Yet  if  he  be  a  friend  of  the  devil,  La  Jon- 
gleuse  would  not  come  for  him,  but " 

Startled  and  excited,  they  grasped  each  other's  arms. 
"  Hut  for  us — for  us  !  " 

"  It  would  be  a  work  of  <      Uo  send  him  to  the  devil," 


0 


LA  JONGLEUSE. 


257 


viirncy  hud 

11(1   11  sword 

(.'virs — mid 

y  coming  to 

iiiorninc:  I 

'ou  send  ine 

iini's  bosom 

Wliy,    tliis, 

!    JlJld    SWOl'G 

nfv'     Why 

,  for  muddy 
y  say  thiit 
11  jibout  St. 
ic  book." 
•t,  ho  would 
do  not  like 
t  his  hair  is 
Nor  did  he 
ything  tliey 
t  stay,  and 
the  watches 
'hen  ^Fsieu' 
a  trick  like 
for  ■NPsieu' 
Knglishniriu 


ist  spells 


f)  ?> 


7» 


ill.  La  Jon- 


her's  arms. 


the  devil," 


said  liamboir  in  a  loud  whisper.  "  lie  has  given  us  trouble 
enough.  Who  can  tell  what  comes  next?  Those  damned 
uoist's  in  his  room,  eh — eh?" 

Then  they  whispered  together,  and  presently  I  caught 
a  fragment,  by  which  I  understood  that,  as  we  walked  near 
th(^  ('(Ige  of  the  clilt,  I  should  be  pushed  over,  and  they 
would  make  it  appear  that  1  had  drowned  myself. 

They  talked  in  low  tones  again,  but  soon  got  louder, 
and  ])resently  I  knew  that  they  were  speaking  of  La 
Jongleuse;  and  liamboir — the  fat  Bamboir,  who  the 
surgeon  had  said  would  some  day  die  of  apoplexy — was 
rash  enough  to  say  that  he  had  seen  her.  lie  described 
her  accurately,  with  the  spirit  of  the  born  rdfonfenr  : 

"  Hair  so  black  as  the  feather  in  the  (iovernor's  hat, 
and  i^reen  eves  that  Hash  tire,  and  a  brown  face  with 
skin  all  scales.  Oh,  mv  saints  of  heaven,  when  she  i)ass 
1  hide  my  head,  and  I  go  cold  like  stone.  She  is  all 
covered  with  lonoj  reeds  and  lilies  about  her  head  and 
shoulders,  and  blue- red  sparks  lly  up  at  every  step. 
Flames  go  round  hc^',  and  she  burns  not  her  robe — not 
at  all.  And  as  she  go  I  hear  cries  that  make  me  sick, 
for  it  is,  1  said,  some  poor  man  in  torture,  and  1  thi  dv 
perhaps  it  is  Jacques  Villon,  perhaps  Jean  Ivivas,  perhaps 
AngcMe  Damgoclie.  But  no,  it  is  a  young  priest  of  St. 
Clair,  for  he  is  never  seen  again — never  !" 

In  my  mind  I  commended  this  fat  Bamboir  as  an  ex- 
cellent story-teller,  and  thanked  him  for  his  true  picture 
of  La  Jongleuse,  whom,  to  my  regret,  I  had  never  seen. 
I  would  not  forget  his  stirring  description,  as  lie  should 
see.  I  gave  point  to  the  tale  by  squeezing  an  inllated 
toy  in  my  pocket,  with  my  arm,  while  my  hands  remained 
folded  in  front  of  me  ;  and  it  was  as  good  as  a  play  to 
see  the  faces  of  these  soldiers  as  they  sprang  to  their  feet, 
staring  round  in  dismay.  I  myself  seemed  to  wake  with 
a  start,  and,  rising  to  my  feet,  I  asked  what  meant  the 


258 


TIIK  SEATS  OF  THE   MUillTV. 


noise  and  tliuir  anmzoment.  Wo  were  in  ii  spot  where  wo 
could  not  ousily  be  neen  from  iiny  distance,  and  no  one 
was  in  si«;ht,  nor  were  we  to  be  remarked  from  the  fort. 
They  exehan;L,a'd  looks,  as  \  started  baek  tr>wards  the 
chateau,  wulkiii^j;  very  near  the  ed^^e  of  the  el  ill.  A 
spiiit  of  bravado  came  on  nu',  and  1  said  musingly  to 
tliem  as  we  walked  : 

"  It  would  be  easy  to  tlirow  you  both  over  tlie  clilT, 
but  I  love  you  too  well.  1  have  proved  that  by  making 
toys  for  your  children." 

It  was  as  cordial  to  me  to  watcli  their  faces.  They 
both  drew  away  from  the  clilT,  and  grasped  their  th-e- 
arms  apprehensively. 

"  My  God,"  siiid  l^)amboir,  "  those  toys  shall  be  burned 
to-night!  Alphonse  has  the  smallpox  and  Susanne  the 
croup — damned  (h^vil  I  "  he  added  furiously,  stepping 
forward  to  me  with  'j;u]\  raised,  "  Til " 

I  believe  he  would  have  shot  me,  but  that  I  said 
quickly,  "  Jf  you  did  harm  to  me  you\l  come  to  the 
rope.  The  (loverno  would  rather  lose  a  luuul  than  my 
life." 

I  })ushed  his  musket  down.  *'  Why  should  you  fret? 
I  am  leaving  the  chateau  to-morrow  for  aiujther  prison. 
You  fools,  d'ye  think  I'd  harm  the  children  V  I  know 
as  little  of  the  devil  or  La  Jongleuse  as  do  you.  We'll 
solve  the  witcheries  of  these  sounds,  you  and  I,  to-night. 
If  thev  come,  we'll  sav  the  Lord's  Praver,  and  make  the 
sacred  gesture,  and  if  it  goes  not,  we'll  have  a  priest  t^) 
drive  out  the  whining  spirit." 

This  rpiieted  them,  and  I  was  glad  of  it,  for  they 
had  looked  bloodthirsty  enough,  and  though  I  had  a 
weapon  on  me,  there  was  little  use  in  seeking  figliting  or 
flight  till  the  aus[)icious  moment.  They  were  not  satis- 
fied, however,  and  they  watched  me  diligently  as  we  came 
on  to  the  chateau. 


i 


il 


LA  JONOLIU'SE. 


i250 


where  wo 
id  no  one 
I  tlie  fort, 
wards  tlio 
dm.  A 
ising'ly  to 

the  olilT, 
y  iiuikiiig 

's.  TlR.y 
heir  lire- 

)e  burned 

Siinne  the 

stei)})ing 

at  I  sjiid 
e  to  the 
than  my 

'on  fret? 
r  prison. 
I  know 
I.  WeMl 
to- nig]  it. 
nuke  the 
l)riest  to 

for  tliey 
I  hud  a 
ditinir  or 
lot  sutis- 
we  came 


I  uouhl  not  bear  thut  th  y  should  be  frightened  about 
tlieir  ehildren,  so  1  said  : 

"  Make  ^'or  nie  a  sacred  oatli,  and  I  will  swear  by  it 
that  those  toys  will  do  your  children  no  hunu." 

1  drew  out  tlu;  little  wooden  cross  thut  Muthildc  hud 
given  me,  uud  held  it  up.  They  looked  at  uie  ustnu- 
islu^d.  What  should  I,  a  herelic  and  a  Protestant,  do 
with  this  sacred  emblem?  ''  This  never  leaves  me,"  said 
1 ;  "it  was  a  pious  gift." 

I  raised  the  cross  to  my  lips  ami  kissed  it. 

"  That's  well,"  said  15am hoir  to  his  comrade.  "  If 
otherwise,  he'd  have  been  struck  down  by  the  Avenging 
Angel." 

We  got  back  to  the  Chateau  without  more  talk,  and 
1  was  locked  in,  while  my  guards  retired.  As  soon  as 
tliey  had  gone  1  got  to  work,  for  my  great  enterprise 
was  at  hund. 

At  ten  o'clock  I  was  ready  for  the  venture.  When 
tlie  critical  moment  came,  I  was  so  arrayed  that  my 
dearest  friend  would  not  have  known  me.  ^ly  object 
was  to  come  out  upon  my  guards  as  La  .Fougleuse,  and,  in 
the  fright  aiul  confusion  which  shoukl  follow,  make  my 
escape  through  the  corridors  and  to  the  entrance  doors, 
past  the  sentinels,  and  so  on  out.  It  may  be  seen  now 
why  I  got  the  vvomim's  gurb,  tlie  sheet,  the  horsehair,  the 
phosphorus,  the  reeds,  and  such  things  ;  why  I  secured 
tlie  knife  and  pistol  may  be  conned  likewise.  Ui)on  the 
lid  of  a  small  stove  in  the  room  I  placed  my  saltpetre, 
and  I  rubbed  the  horsehair  on  my  head  with  phosphorus, 
also  on  my  hands,  and  face,  and  feet,  and  on  many  ob- 
jects in  the  room,  ^riie  knife  and  pistol  were  at  my  hand, 
and  as  soon  as  the  clock  had  struck  ten  I  set  my  toys 
wail  in  1?. 

Then  I  knocked  upon  the  door  with  solemn  taps, 
hurried   back  to    the  stove,  and  waited  for  the  door  to 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


// 


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1.0 


I.I 


U£  122    12.2 


1.8 


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11.25  lil.4    11.6 


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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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<if 


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% 


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2G0 


THE  SEATS  OP  THE   MIGHTY. 


open  before  I  applied  tlie  matcli.  I  heard  a  fumbling 
at  the  lock,  then  tlie  door  was  tlirown  wide  open.  All 
was  darkness  in  the  hall  without,  save  for  a  spluttering 
candle  which  l^aniboir  held  over  his  head,  as  he  and  his 
fellow,  deadly  ])ale,  peered  into  the  chanil)er.  Suddenly 
they  gave  a  cry,  for  I  threw  the  sho(!t  from  my  face  and 
shoulders,  and  to  their  excited  imagination  La  Jongleuse 
stood  before  them,  all  in  llames.  As  I  started  down  on 
them,  the  coloured  tire  Hew  up,  making  the  room  all  blue 
and  scarlet  for  a  moment,  in  which  I  niu?t  have  looked 
devilish  indeed,  with  staring  eyes  and  outstretched  chalky 
hands,  and  wailing  cries  coming  from  my  robe. 

I  moved  swiftly,  and  liamboir,  without  a  cry,  dropped 
like  a  log  (poor  fellow,  he  never  rose  again  !  the  apoplexy 
which  the  surgeon  promised  had  come),  his  comrade  gave 
a  cry,  and  sank  in  a  heap  in  a  corner,  mumbling  a 
prayer  and  nuiking  the  sign  of  the  cross,  his  face  stark 
with  terror. 

I  passed  him,  caine  along  the  corridor  and  down  one 
staircase,  without  seeing  any  one  ;  then  two  soldiers  ap- 
peared in  the  half-lighted  hallway.  Presently  a  door 
opened  behind  me,  and  some  one  came  out.  By  now  the 
phosphorus  light  had  diminished  a  little,  but  still  I  was 
a  villainous  picture,  for  in  one  hand  I  held  a  small  cup, 
from  wdiich  suddenly  s])rang  red  and  blue  fires.  The 
men  fell  back,  and  I  sjuled  past  them,  but  I  had  not 
gone  far  down  the  lower  staircase  when  a  shot  rang 
after  me  and  a  bullet  passed  by  my  head.  Now  I  came 
rapidly  to  the  outer  door,  where  two  more  sentinels 
stood.  They  shrank  back,  and  suddenly  one  threw 
down  his  musket  and  ran ;  the  other,  terrified,  stood 
stock-still.  I  passed  him,  opened  the  door,  and  came  out 
upon  the    Intendant,  who  was  just   alighting  from   his 


carriage. 


The  horses  sprang  away,  frightened  at  sight  of  me, 


LA  JOXGLEUSE. 


261 


ambling 
en.  All 
uttering 
I  and  hi3 
uulilenly 
face  and 
ongleuse 
:lo\vn  on 
I  all  blue 
:q  looked 
d  chalky 

dropped 
apoplexy 
i-ade  gave 
nbling  a 
ixce  stark 

:lown  one 
Idiers  ap- 
y  a  door 
:  now  the 
;till  I  was 
nail  cup, 
es.      The 
had  not 
lot  rang 
w  I  came 
sentinels 
le   threw 
ed,  stood 
came  out 
from   his 

it  of  me, 


and  nearly  threw  Bigot  to  tlie  ground.  I  tossed  the  tin 
cup  with  its  cliemicul  lires  full  in  his  face,  as  he  made  v. 
dasli  for  me.  lie  called  out,  and  drew  his  sword.  I 
wished  not  to  tight,  and  I  sprang  aside;  but  he  made  a 
pass  at  me,  aiul  1  drew  my  i)i8tol  and  was  jihout  to  tiJ-e, 
when  anotlier  shot  came  from  the  hallway  and  struck  him. 
lie  fell  almost  at  my  feet,  and  I  dashed  away  into  the 
darkness.  I'ifty  feet  ahead  I  cast  one  glance  back  and 
saw  Monsieur  Cournal  standing  in  the  doorway.  I  was 
sure  that  his  second  shot  had  not  ben  meant  for  me,  but 
for  tlie  Intendant — wild  attempt  at  a  revenge  long  de- 
layed, for  the  worst  of  wronj^^s. 

I  ran  on,  and  presently  came  full  upon  five  soldiers, 
two  of  whom  drew  their  pistols,  tired,  and  missed.  Their 
comrades  ran  away  howling.  They  barred  my  path,  and 
now  I  lired  too,  and  brought  one  down ;  then  came  a 
shot  from  behind  them,  and  another  fell.  The  last  one 
took  to  his  heels,  and  a  moment  later  I  had  my  hand  in 
that  of  Mr.  Stevens.  It  was  he  who  had  fired  the  oppor- 
tune shot  that  rid  me  of  one  foe.  We  came  quickly  along 
the  river  brink,  and,  skirting  the  citadel,  got  clear  of  it 
without  discovery,  though  we  could  see  soldiers  hurrying 
past,  roused  by  the  firing  at  the  chateau. 

In  about  half  an  hour  of  steady  running,  with  a 
few  bad  stumbles  ami  falls,  we  reached  the  old  windmill 
above  the  Anse  du  Foulon  at  Sillery,  and  came  plump 
upon  our  waiting  comrades.  I  had  strii)ped  myself  of  my 
disguise,  and  rubbed  the  phosphorus  from  my  person 
as  we  came  alonir,  but  enouirh  remained  to  make  me  an 
uncanny  figure.  It  had  been  kept  secret  from  these  peo- 
ple tliat  I  was  to  go  with  them,  and  they  sullenly  kept 
tlu'ir  muskets  raised  ;  but  when  Mr.  Stevens  told  them 
who  I  was  they  were  agreeably  surprised.  I  at  once  took 
command  of  the  enterprise,  saying  firmly  at  the  same  time 
that  I  would  shoot  the  first  man  who  disobeyed  my  orders. 
18 


THE  SKATS   OF  TlIK   i^IIGlITY. 


'I  Wiis  sure  tluit  T  cjoiild  bring  thciu  to  siifuty,  but  my  will 
Itiust  be  l;i\v.  They  took  my  terms  like  men,  and  swore 
to  stand  by  me. 


) 


XX 11. 


Till'    LUUU    OF    KAMAKASKA. 

We  were  five  altogetlier — ^Fr.  Stevens,  Clark,  the  two 
Boston  soldii-'r.-j,  and  mysi'li';  and  presently  we  came  down 
the  steep  passage  in  the  clill'  to  wliere  our  craft  lay,  se- 
cured bv  mv  dear  wife — a  birch  canoe,  well  laden  with 
necessaries.  Our  craft  was  none  too  large  for  our  party, 
but  she  must  do;  and  safely  in,  we  ])ushed  out  upon  the 
current,  wliieh  was  in  our  favour,  for  the  tide  was  going 
out.  ]\Iy  object  was  to  cross  the  river  softly,  skirt  the 
Levis  shore,  pass  the  Isle  of  Orleans,  and  so  steal  down  the 
river.  There  was  excitement  in  tlie  town,  as  wo  could  tell 
from  the  lights  Hashing  along  the  shore,  and  boats  soon 
began  to  i)atrol  the  banks,  going  swiftly  up  and  down,  and 
cxtendinir  a  line  round  to  the  St.  Cliarles  liiver  towards 
Beauport. 

It  was  well  for  us  the  night  was  dark,  else  we  had 
never  run  tliat  gantlet.  But  we  were  lucky  enough,  by  hard 
paddling,  to  get  [)ast  the  town  on  the  Levis  side.  Xever 
were  better  boatmen,  'i'lie  paddles  dropjied  with  agreeable 
precision,  and  no  boatswain's  rattan  was  needed  to  keep 
my  fi'llows  to  their  task.  I,  whose  sight  was  long  trained 
to  darkness,  could  see  a  great  distance  rouiul  us,  and  so 
could  prevent  a  ti'ap,  though  once  or  twice  we  let  our 
canoe  drift  with  the  tide,  K'st  our  paddles  should  be  heard. 
I  could  not  paddle  long,  1  had  so  little  strength.  After 
the  Isle  of  Orleans  was  passed  I  drew  a  breath  of  re- 
lief, and  ])layed  the  part  of  captain  and  boatswain  merely. 

Yet  when  I  looked  back  at  the  town  on  those  strong 


THE  LOUD  OF  KAMAIIASKA. 


2G3 


:  my  will 
lid  swore 


:,  the  two 
Line  down 
ft  lay,  se- 
iden  with 
nw  party, 
upon  the 
was  going 
skirt  the 
down  the 
coidd  toll 
)oat3  soon 
own,  and 
r  towards 

e  we  had 

1,  by  hard 

0.     Never 

agreeable 

d  to  keep 

g  trained 

us  and  so 

e  let  our 

be  heard, 
h.  After 
itli  of  re- 

11  merely, 
ose  strong 


heights,  and  saw  the  bonfires  burn  to  warn  the  settlers  of 
our  escape,  saw  the  ligiits  sparkling  in  many  liomes,  and 
even  fancied  I  could  make  out  tlie  light  sliiniug  in  my 
dear  wife's  window,  [  had  a  strange  feeling  of  loneliness. 
There,  in  the  shadow  of  my  prison  walls,  was  the  dearest 
tiling  on  earth  to  me.  Ought  she  not  to  be  with  me? 
Slie  had  begged  to  come,  to  share  with  me  these  dangers 
and  hardships ;  but  that  I  could  not,  w»)uld  not  grant. 
Slie  would  be  safer  with  her  people.  As  for  us  ib'Sperate 
men  bent  on  escape,  we  must  face  houi-ly  ])erih 

Thank  Clod,  there  was  woi'k  to  do.  Hour  after  hour 
the  swing  and  dip  of  the  paiUlles  went  on.  'So  one 
showed  weariness,  and  when  dawn  broke  slow  and  soft 
over  the  eastern  hills  I  motioned  my  good  boatmen  to- 
wards tlie  sliore,  and  we  landed  safelv.  J.iftincf  our  friir- 
ate  up,  we  carried  her  into  a  thicket,  there  to  rest  with  us 
till  night,  when  we  would  sally  forth  again  into  the 
friendly  darkness.  AVe  were  in  no  distress  all  that  day, 
for  the  weather  was  line,  and  we  had  enough  to  eat;  and 
in  this  case  were  we  for  ten  davs  and  niuhts,  thouo-h  in- 
deed  some  of  the  uijjhts  were  dreai'v  and  verv  cold,  for  it 
was  yet  but  the  beginning  of  May. 

It  might  thus  seem  that  we  were  leaving  danger  well 
behind,  after  having  travelled  so  many  heavy  leagues,  but 
it  was  yet  several  hundred  nules  to  Louisbui'g,  our  destina- 
tion, and  we  had  escai)ed  only  immediate  danger.  We 
passed  Isle  aux  Coudres  and  the  Isles  of  Kamaraska,  and 
now  we  ventured  by  day  to  ramble  the  woods  in  search  of 
game,  which  was  most  plentiful.  In  this  good  outdoor 
life  my  health  came  slowlv  back,  ai.d  I  should  soon  be 
able  to  bear  equal  tasks  with  any  of  my  comrades.  Xever 
man  led  better  friends,  though  J  have  seen  adventurous 
service  near  and  far  since  that  time.  Even  the  genial 
ruflian  Clark  was  amenable,  and  took  sharp  reprimand 
without  revolt. 


2Gi 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


On  the  olevcTith  night,  iiftor  our  escape  our  first  real 
trial  eanic.  We  were  keeping  the  middle  of  the  great 
river,  as  safest  from  detection,  and  when  tlie  tide  was  witli 
US  we  could  thus  move  more  rapidly.  We  liad  had  u  con- 
stant favouring  breeze,  but  now  su(hleidy,  though  we  were 
running  with  the  tide,  the  wind  turned  easterly  and  blew 
up  the  river  against  the  ebb.  Soon  it  became  a  gale,  to 
which  was  added  snow  and  sleet,  and  a  rough,  cho])py  sea 
followed. 

I  saw  it  would  bo  no  easy  task  to  fetch  our  craft  to  tlie 
land.  The  waves  broke  in  upon  us,  and  presently,  while 
lialf  of  us  were  paddling  with  laboured  and  desperate 
stroke,  the  other  half  were  bailing.  Lifted  on  a  crest,  our 
canoe,  heavily  laden,  d'-opi)ed  at  both  ends;  and  again, 
sinking  into  the  hollows  between  the  short,  brutal  waves, 
her  gunwales  yielded  outward,  and  her  waist  gaped  in  a 
dismal  w;ty.  We  looked  to  see  her  with  a  broken  back  at 
anv  moment.  To  add  to  our  ill  fortune,  a  violent  cur- 
rent  set  in  from  the  shore,  and  it  was  vain  to  attempt  a 
landing.  Spirits  and  bodies  llagged,  and  it  needed  all  my 
cheerfulness  to  keep  my  fellows  to  their  tasks. 

At  last,  the  ebb  of  tide  being  almost  spent,  the  waves 
began  to  fall,  the  wind  shifted  a  little  to  the  northward, 
and  a  piercing  cold  instantly  froze  our  drenched  clothes 
on  our  backs,  liut  ^  ith  the  current  changed  there  was  a 
good  chance  of  reaching  the  shore.  As  daylight  came  w^e 
passed  into  a  little  sheltered  cove,  and  sank  with  exhaus- 
tion on  the  shore.  Our  frozen  clotlies  rattle<l  like  tin, 
and  we  could  scarce  lift  a  leg.  But  we  gathered  a  fine 
heap  of  wood,  flint  and  steel  were  ready,  and  the  tinder 
^vas  sought;  which,  wlien  found,  was  soaking.  Not  a 
dry  stitch  or  stick  could  we  find  anywliere,  till  at  last, 
within  a  leather  belt,  Mr.  Stevens  found  a  handkerchief, 
which  was,  indeed,  as  he  told  me  afterwards,  the  gift  and 
pledge  of  a  lady  to  him  ;  and  his  returning  to  her  with- 


TIIK  LORD  OP  KAMARASKA. 


2G5 


first  real 
;he  great 
was  with 
Lid  a  coii- 
wo  were 
and  blew 
I  gale,  to 
iopi)y  sea 

ift  to  tlie 
:ly,  while 
Jesperate 
3rest,  our 
id  again, 
al  waves, 
ped  ill  a 
1  back  at 
lent  ciir- 
ttenipt  a 
3d  all  my 

he  waves 
>rthward, 
1  clothes 
ore  was  a 
came  we 
1  ex  hail  s- 

like  tin, 
I'd  a  fine 
le  tinder 
Not  a 
I  at  last, 
kerchief, 

gift  and 
der  with- 


out it  nearly  lost  him  another  and  better  gift  and  pledge, 
for  tliis  went  to  light  our  fire.  We  had  had  enough 
danger  and  work  in  one  night  to  give  us  relish  for  some 
days  of  rest,  and  we  piously  took  them. 

The  evening  of  the  second  day  we  set  off  again  and 
had  a  good  night's  run,  and  in  the  dawn,  s|)vin<r  a  snuir 
little  bay,  we  stood  in  and  went  ashore.  I  sent  my  two 
Trovincials  foraging  with  tlu-ir  guns,  and  we  who  re- 
mained set  about  to  iix  our  camp  for  the  day  and  i)re- 
pare  breakfast.  A  few  minutes  only  i)asse(l,  and  my 
hunters  came  runiiing  back  with  rueful  faces  to  say 
they  had  seen  two  Indians  near,  armed  .nth  muskets  and 
knives.  My  plans  were  made  at  once.  We  needed  their 
muskets,  and  the  Indians  must  pay  the  price  of  their 
presence  here,  for  our  safety  should  be  liad  at  any  cost. 

I  urged  my  men  to  utter  no  woi'd  at  all,  for  none  but 
Clark  could  speak  French,  and  he  but  poorly.  For  my- 
self, my  accent  would  pass,  after  these  six  years  of  })rac- 
tice.  We  came  to  a  little  river,  beyond  which  we  could 
observe  the  Indians  standing  on  guard.  We  could  only 
cross  by  wading,  which  we  did  ;  but  one  of  my  Provin- 
cials came  down,  wetting  his  musket  and  hiuiself  thor- 
oughly. Reaching  the  shore,  we  marched  together,  I 
singi!ig  the  refrain  of  an  old  French  song  as  we  went, 
so  attracting  the  attention  of  the  Iiulians.  The  better  to 
deceive,  we  all  were  now  dressed  in  the  costume  of  the 
French  ]ieasant — I  had  taken  jiains  to  have  ]\[r,  Stevens 
secure  these  for  us  before  starting;  a  pair  of  homespun 
trousers,  a  coarse  brown  jacket,  with  thrums  like  wavijig 
tassels,  a  silk  handkerchief  about  the  neck,  and  a  strong, 
thick  worstt'd  wig  on  the  head  ;  no  smart  toupet,  n(n' 
buekle  ;  nor  coinbei],  nor  ])owdered  ;  a.]ul  all  crowned  by 
a  dull  black  ea]").  1  myself  was,  as  became  my  purpose, 
most  like  a  small  captain  of  militia,  doing  wood  service, 
in  the  braver  costume  cf  tlu'  courcur  dc  hois. 


200 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


I  signalled  to  tlie  Iiitliiiiis,  {iiul,  coming  near,  addressed 
them  in  Frencli.  'riiey  were  deceived,  and  presently, 
abreast  of  them,  in  the  midst  of  ai)i)arent  ceremony,  their 
tirelocks  were  seized,  and  Mr.  Stevens  and  Clark  had  them 
safe.  I  told  them  we  must  be  satislied  as  to  who  they 
were,  for  English  prisoners  esca})ed  from  (2n('l)ec  were 
abroad,  and  no  man  could  go  unchallenged.  They  must 
at  once  lead  me  to  their  cam}).  So  they  did,  and  at 
their  bark  wigwam  thev  said  tliev  had  seen  no  Enirlish- 
men.  They  were  guardians  of  the  fire;  that  is,  it  was 
their  dutv  to  light  a  lire  on  the  shore  when  a  hostile  fleet 
should  appear  ;  and  from  another  point  farther  up,  other 
guardians,  seeing,  would  do  the  same,  until  beacons  would 
bo  shining  even  to  Quebec,  three  hundred  leagues  away. 

"While  I  was  questioning  them,  Clark  rilled  the  wig- 
wam ;   and  presently,  the  excitable  fellow,  finding  some 

dlent  stores  of  skins,  tea,  maple  sugar,  coffee,  and  other 
tilings,  broke  out  into  English  expletives.  Instantly  the 
Indians  saw  they  had  been  trapped,  and  he  whom  Mr. 
Stevens  held  made  a  great  spring  from  him,  caught  up  a 
gun,  and  gave  a  wild  yell  which  echoed  far  and  near. 
Mr.  Stevens,  with  great  rapidity,  levelled  his  pistol  and 
shot  him  in  the  heart,  whUe  I,  in  a  close  struggle  with 
my  captive,  Avas  glad — for  I  was  not  yet  strong — that 
Clark  finished  my  assailant :  a]id  so  both  lay  there  dead, 
two  foes  less  of  our  King. 

Not  far  from  where  we  stood  was  a  pool  of  water, 
and  we  sank  the  bodies  there  ;  but  I  did  not  know  till 
long  afterwards  that  Clark,  with  a  barbarous  and  dis- 
gusting spirit,  carried  away  their  scalps  to  sell  them  in 
New  York,  where  they  would  bring,  as  he  confided  to 
one  of  the  Provincials,  twelve  pounds  each.  Before  we 
left,  we  shot  a  poor  howling  dog  that  mourned  for  his 
masters,  and  sank  him  also  in  the  dark  pool. 

We  had  but  got  back  to  our  camp,  when,  looking  out, 


THE  LOUD  OF   KAMAUASKA. 


207 


uldresscd 
)  resell  lly, 
>ny,  tlieir 
lad  tliem 
rvlio  tlicy 
l)ec  were 
key  must 
,  iind  at 
Englisli- 
s,  it  was 
stile  fleet 
lip,  other 
IIS  would 
3  away, 
the  wig- 
ng  some 
nd  other 
iiitly  the 
:iom  ^[r. 
ght  up  a 
rid  near, 
istol  and 
gle  with 
iig — that 
!i'e  dead, 

)f  water, 
:iiow  till 
and  dis- 
them  in 
ifided  to 
efore  we 
[  for  his 

:ing  out, 


wo  saw  a  well-manned  four-oared  boat  making  for  the 
shore.  My  meti  were  in  disniMV  until  I  told  them  that, 
having  begun  the  game  of  \v;ir,  1  would  curry  it  on  to 
the  ri[)C  end.  This  boiit  and  all  therein  should  be  mine. 
Safely  hidden,  we  watched  the  rowers  d'-aw  in  to  shore 
with  brisk  strokes,  singing  a  (puiii't  farewell  song  of  the 
vuijKt/curs^  oiiWi-'d  La  I'auvre  .^L4•e,  of  which  the  refrain  is: 

« 

"  And  his  inotlior  says,  '  .My  dcur, 
For  your  iibseiico  1  shall  ^riove  ; 
Come  you  home  wilhiu  the  yo;ir.'  " 

They  had  eviilently  been  upon  a  long  journey,  and  by 
their  toiling  we  could  see  their  boat  was  deep  loaded  ;  but 
they  drove  on,  like  a  horse  that,  at  the  close  of  day,  sees 
ahead  the  inn  where  he  is  to  bait  and  refresh,  and,  rous- 
ing to  the  spur,  coiiies  cheerily  home.  The  ligiire  of  a 
reverend  old  man  was  in  the  stern,  and  he  sent  them  in 
to  shore  with  brisk  words.  Ihiini)  came  the  big  shallop 
on  the  beach,  and  at  that  moment  I  ordered  my  men  to 
fire,  but  to  aim  wide,  for  I  had  another  end  in  view  than 
killing. 

We  were  exactly  matched  as  to  numbers,  so  that  a 
fight  would  have  bec^n  fair  enough,  but  I  hoped  for  peace- 
ful conquest.  As  we  fired  I  ste})ped  out  of  the  thicket, 
and  behind  me  could  be  seen  the  barrels  of  our  thrcaten- 
intr  muskets.  The  old  ovntlcman  stood  ui)  while  his  men 
cried  for  quarter,  lie  waved  thom  down  with  an  impa- 
tient gesture,  and  stepped  out  on  the  beacli.  Then  I 
recotrnized  him.  It  was  the  (Mievalicr  de  la  Darante.  I 
stepped  towards  him,  my  sword  drawn. 

"Monsieur  the  Chevalier  dc  la  Darante,  you  are  my 
prisoner,"  said  I. 

lie  started,  then  recognized  me.  "  Xow,  by  the  blood 
of  man  !  now,  by  the  blood  of  man  ! ''  he  said,  and  paused, 
dumfounded. 


2G8 


THE  SKATS  OF  THE  MKillTY. 


"You  forgot  mo,  monsiinir?"  iiskod  I. 

"  Forgot  you,  inonsiour  ?  "  suiil  ho.  "  As  soon  for- 
get the  devil  at  muss!  JUit  1  thouglit  you  dojul  by 
now,  and " 

"  If  you  are  disapj)ointo(l,"  said  I,  "  thoro  is  a  way  "  ; 
and  I  waved  towards  Ids  mon,  tlioii  to  Mr.  Stevens  and 
my  own  ambusliod  follows. 

lie  sndlod  an  aoid  smilo,  and  took  a  pinch  of  snulT. 
"  It  is  not  so  liory-eilgod  as  that,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  ean 
endure  it." 

"  You  sliall  have  time,  loo,  for  rovoi'io,"  answered  I. 

He  looked  puzzled.     "  What  is't  you  wish?"  ho  asked. 

"  Your  surrender  first,"  saiil  1,  "  and  tlion  your  com- 
pany at  breakfast." 

"  Tlie  hitter  has  moaning  and  compliment,"  he  re- 
sponded, "  the  former  is  beyond  me.  What  would  you 
do  with  me  ?  " 

"  Detain  vou  and  vour  shallop  for  the  services  of  mv 
master,  the  King  of  England,  soon  to  be  the  master  of 
your  master,  if  the  sii^us  ai'o  right." 

"  All  signs  fail  with  tlio  blind,  monsieur." 

"Monsieur,"  he  added,  wi^^h  great,  almost  too  great 
dignity,  "I  am  of  \\w  fanuly  of  the  Due  do  Miropoix. 
The  whole  Kamnraska  Isles  are  mine,  and  the  best  gen- 
tlemen in  this  province  do  me  vassalage.  I  make  war  on 
none,  I  have  stepped  aside  from  all  alTairs  of  state,  I  am  a 
simple  gentleman.  I  have  boon  a  groat  way  down  this 
river,  at  large  expense  and  toil,  to  purchase  Avheat,  for  all 
the  corn  of  these  counties  above  goes  to  Quebec  to  store 
the  King's  magazine,  the  adored  La  Friponne.  I  know 
not  your  purposes,  but  I  trust  you  will  not  push  your  ad- 
vantage"— he  waved  towards  our  muskets — "against  a 
private  gentleman." 

"  You  forgot.  Chevalier,"  said  I,  "  that  you  gave  ver- 
dict for  my  death." 


THE  LOUD  0.    KAMAIiASKA. 


209 


soon  for- 
<li'ii(l    by 

;  Ji  way  "  ; 
L' veils  jiiid 

of  siiiilT. 
;  "  I  can 

ercHl  I. 
ho  askcil. 
our  eoiu- 

,"  lie  rc- 
Duld   vou 

'08  of  my 
11  aster  of 


00  groat 
liropoix. 
jost  gen- 
0  war  on 
%  I  am  a 
)wn  til  is 
t,  for  all 
to  store 
I  know 
your  ad- 
^ainst   a 

avG  vcr- 


"Up(m  the  evidcnoo,"  he  replied.  "And  I  have  no 
doubt  you  deserve  hanging  a  thousand  times/' 

I  ahnost  loved  him  lor  his  boldness.  I  remembered 
also  that  he  had  no  wish  to  be  one  of  my  judges,  and  that 
he  spoke  for  me  in  the  presence  of  the  (iovernoi-.  I'.ut  he 
was  not  the  man  to  make  a  point  of  that. 

"  Chevalier,''  said  I,  "  I  have  i>een  foully  used  in  yonder 
town;  by  the  fortune  of  war  you  shall  hel{)  me  to  eom- 
])ensation.  \\\\  have  come  a  long,  hard  journey;  we  are 
all  much  overworked;  W(;  need  rest,  a  better  i)o:it,  and 
goo<l  sailors.  You  and  your  nu-n.  Chevalier,  shall  row  us 
to  Louisburg.  When  we  are  attacked,  you  shall  l»e  in  the 
van;  when  we  are  at  peace,  you  shall  industriously  servo 
under  King  (Jeorge's  Ihig.  \o\v  will  you  give  up  your 
men,  and  join  me  at  breakfast':"' 

For  a  moment  the  excellent  gentleman  was  mute,  and 
my  heart  almost  fell  before  his  venerable  white  hair  and 
his  proud  bearing;  but  something  a  little  overdone  in  his 
pride,  a  little  ludicrous  in  the  situation,  set  me  sniilinii-; 
there  came  ])ack  on  me  the  remembrance  of  all  1  had  suf- 
fered, and  I  let  no  sentiment  stand  between  me  and  my 
pur])oses. 

"  I  am  the  Chevalier  de  la ""  he  l)egan. 

"If  vou  ^\ere  Kinc:  l.ouis  himself,  and  everv  man  in 
your  boat  a  iteer  of  his  realm,  you  should  row  a  I'n-itish 
subject  now,"  s:iid  I;  "or,  if  you  choose,  you  shall  have 
fighting  instead."  J  meant  there  shoidd  be  nothing  un- 
certain in  my  words. 

"  I  surrender,"  said  lu^ ;  "  and  if  you  are  bent  on  sham- 
ing me,  let  us  have  it  over  soon." 

"  You  shall  have  better  ti'catment  than  I  had  in  Que- 
bec," answered  I. 

A  moment  afterwards  his  men  avoto  duly  surrendered, 
disarmed,  and  guarded,  and  the  Chevalier  breakfasted 
with  me,  now  and  again  asking  me  news  of  (Quebec.     He 


27(1 


TIIR  SKATS  OF  TIIK   MKillTY. 


was  jiinuzcd  to  Iumi-  lliiit  l)i;^'(>t  li;ul  hoon  shot,  juid  (Yin- 
tressed  that  I  could  not  s:iv  wlu'llicr  I'atidly  or  not. 

I  jixcil  (Ml  a  iicw  plan.  W  c  would  now  procet'd  l)y 
day  us  woll  as  liy  ni^lit,  for  the  shallop  could  not  k'livo  the 
rivor,  suid,  bcsidi's,  I  did  not  can'  to  trust  my  })risom'rs  on 
slioro.  I  tlirew  from  Ihc  sliallop  into  ihu  stream  c'nou,i;h 
wheat  to  liirhten  her,  and  now,  well  stored  and  irimmed, 
we  pushed  away  upon  our  course,  the  Chevalier  aiul  Ids 
men  rowiuu:,  while  my  men  rested  and  tended  the  sail, 
wdnch  was  now  set.  1  was  much  loath  to  tnit  our  good 
canoe  adrift,  hut  she  stoj)[)ed  the  shaUop's  way,  and  she 
was  l(d't  heliind. 

After  a  tiuu^  our  prisoners  were  in  i)art  relieved,  and 
I  made  the  Chevalier  rest  also,  for  lie  had  taken  Ins  task 
in  good  pai't,  and  h;id  ordei'ed  his  men  to  subnut  cheer- 
fully, lu  the  late  afternoon,  after  nn  exeeUent  journey, 
we  saw  a  high  and  shaggy  point  of  laiul,  far  ahead,  whieli 
sliut  oil'  our  view.  I  was  anxious  to  see  beyond  it,  for 
ships  of  war  might  appear  at  any  moment.  A  good 
breeze  brought  u])  this  land,  .and  when  we  were  abreast  of 
it  a  h)fty  fi-igate  was  disclosed  to  view — a  convoy  (so  the 
Chevalier  saiil)  to  a  licet  of  transports  whi(di  that  morn- 
ing had  gone  u[>  the  river.  1  resolved  instantly,  since 
light  was  useless,  to  make  a  run  for  it.  Seating  myself  at 
the  tiller,  I  di'clared  solemnlv  that  I  would  shoot  the  first 
man  who  dared  to  stop  the  shallop's  way,  to  make  sign,  or 
si>eak  a  word.  So,  as  the  frigalo  stood  .across  the  river,  I 
had  all  sail  set,  roused  the  men  at  the  oars,  and  we  came 
runinng  by  her  stern.  Our  })riKoners  were  keen  enough 
to  get  past  in  safety,  for  they  were  between  two  fires,  and 
the  cx(!ellent  Chevalier  was  as  alert  }ind  laborious  as  the 
rest.  '^I'hev  siijfnalled  us  from  the  frii^-ate  bv  a  shot  to 
bring  to,  l)ut  we  came  on  u'allantlv.  Another  shot  wdiizzed 
by  at  a  distance,  but  we  did  not  change  our  course,  and 
then  balls  came  Hying  over  our  heads,  drop[)ing  round  us, 


uud  (11s- 
)t. 

oct't'il  by 
li'iivc  tlie 
■^oiuTs  on 

II  C'IH)ll,i;ll 

IriiiinuMl, 
'  jiiul  his 
tho  sail, 
Diir  good 
,  jiiid  slio 

3ve(l,  iiiid 
1  Ids  tiisk 
dt  clieer- 
i  joiiniov, 
id,  wliicdi 
id  it,  for 
A  good 
djrojist  of 
)y  (so  tbo 
lilt  morn- 
tlv,  siiico 
myself  at 
.  file  first 
c  sign,  or 

0  river,  I 
wo  came 

1  enough 
fires,  and 
lis  as  tlio 
I  si  lot  to 
)  whizzed 
iirsc,  and 
•ound  us, 


TIIH    LOUD   OK    KA.MAIiASKA. 


271 


cooling  their  hot  protests  in  the  river.  r»iit  none  struck 
us,  -md  presently  all  fell  short. 

We  durst  not  slarlu'ii  paee  that  night,  and  hy  morn- 
ing, niiieli  exhausted,  we  deemed  oiu'selves  safe,  and 
rested  for  a  whil",  making  a  hearty  hreakl'ast,  though  a 
sombre  shadow  had  settle(l  on  tin;  face  of  the  gooil  Cheva- 
lier. Once  more  he  ventured  to  pi'otest,  hiH  1  tolil  him 
my  resolution  was  lixed,  and  that  1  wouM,  at  all  costs, 
secure  escape  from  my  six  years'  misery.  He  must  abide 
the  fortune  of  this  wai*. 

For  several  days  we  fared  on,  witlioiit  more  mi.-hap. 
A.t  b^st,  one  morning,  as  we  hugged  the  shore,  1  saw  a 
liM'gc  bo;it  lying  on  the  beach.  On  landing  we  found  the 
bout  of  excellent  size  an<l  made  for  swift  going,  and  pres- 
ently Clark  discovered  tiie  oai's.  'riicn  1  turned  to  the 
Cbevali"!',  who  was  watchinij;  me  curiouslv,  vet  hidinix 
anxietv,  for  be  bad  upheld  his  digidlv  with  sonic  accent 
since  he  bad  come  into  my  service : 

"Chevalier,"  said  I,  "yon  shall  find  um^  more  luimane 
tban  my  persecutors  at  (i^uebco.  J  will  not  binth'r  your 
going,  if  you  will  engage  on  your  lionour--as  would,  for 
instance,  tbo  Due  do  Mirepoix  !" — he  liowcd  to  my  veiled 
ii'onv — "that  vou  will  not  divnl-je  what  hronuht"  vou  hack 
thus  far,  till  you  shall  reach  vour  Kaniai'aska  isles;  and 
you  must  undertake  the  same  for  your  fellows  here." 

lie  consented,  and  I  admired  the  line,  vain  old  man, 
and  lamented  that  I  bad  bad  to  use  him  so. 

"  Tben,"  said  I,  "you  may  depart  with  your  sliallop. 
Your  mast  and  sail,  however,  must  he  ours;  and  for  these 
I  will  i)ay.  I  will  also  pjiy  for  the  wheat  which  was 
thrown  into  the  river,  and  you  shall  have  a  sbare  of  our 
provisions,  got  from  tiro  Indians." 

"  .AEonsieur,"  said  be,  "I  shall  remember  witb  pride 
tbat  I  bave  dealt  witb  so  fair  a  foe.  I  can  not  regret  tbo 
pleasure  of  your  accpiaintance,  even  at  the  price.     And 


272 


THE  SEATS   OF  TOE  MIGHTY. 


sec,  monsieur,  I  do  not  think  you  tlic  criminal  tlioy  have 
made  you  out,  and  so  I  will  tell  a  lady —  -" 

I  raised  my  liand  at  him,  fur  I  saw  tliat  lie  knew 
somelliing,  and  Mr.  Stevens  was  near  us  at  the  time. 

'' (■lievalier,"  said  I,  di'awing  him  aside,  "if,  as  you 
say,  I  have  used  you  lionourahly,  then,  if  trouhle  falls 
upon  !ny  wife  Ix'fore  I  see  her  again,  I  beg  yen  to  stand 
her  friend.  In  the  sad  fortunes  of  war  aud  hate  of  me, 
she  may  need  a  friend — even  against  her  own  iieoi)le,  on 
lier  own  hearthstone." 

I  never  saw  a  man  so  anuized.  To  his  rapid  question- 
ings I  gave  the  one  reply,  that  Alixe  was  my  wife,  llis 
lip  trendded. 

"Poor  child  I  poor  child!"  said  he;  "they  will  put 
her  in  a  nunnerv.     'i'ou  did  wrou"*,  monsieur." 

"  Chevalier,"  said  I,  "  did  you  ever  love  a  woman  ?" 

lie  nuide  a  motion  of  the  hand,  as  if  I  had  touched 
n^ion  a  tender  point,  and  said,  "  So  young  !  so  young  !  " 

"  But  you  will  stand  by  her,"  I  urged,  "  by  the  memory 
of  some  good  Avoman  you  have  known  !" 

He  ])ut  out  his  hand  again  with  a  chafing  sort  of  mo- 
tion. "  There,  there,"  said  he,  "  the  poor  child  shall  never 
want  a  friend.  If  I  can  hel})  it,  she  shall  not  be  made  the 
victim  of  the  Church  or  of  the  State,  nor  yet  of  family 
pride — good  (!od,  no  I" 

Presently  we  pnrted,  and  soon  we  lost  our  grateful  foes 
in  tlie  distance.  All  night  we  jogged  along  with  easy  sail, 
but  just  at  dawn,  in  a  sudden  opening  of  the  land,  we  saw 
a  sloop  at  aiu'hor  near  a  wooded  })oint,  her  pennant  fiying. 
AVe  pushed  along,  uidieeding  her  fiery  signal  to  bring  to; 
aiul  deeliniug,  she  let  ily  a  swivel  loade*!  with  grape,  aud 
again  anotiier,  riddling  our  sail  ;  but  we  were  travelling 
with  wind  and  ti(h%  and  we  soon  left  the  indignant  patrol 
behind.  Towards  eveniui,^  came  a  freshening  wind  and  a 
cobbling  sea,  and  I  thought  it  best  to  make  for  shore.    So, 


THE  LORD  OF  KAMARASKA. 


273 


they  liave 

lie  knew 
:rne. 

f,  as  you 
iblc  falls 
to  stand 
te  of  mo, 
eoplo,  on 

qnestion- 
ife.     His 

'vvill  put 

lan  ?  " 

touched 
ang ! " 

memory 

t  of  mo- 
Lill  never 
nude  the 
f  family 

oful  foes 
Dasy  sail, 
,  we  saw 
it  flyini:'. 
ring  to  ; 
[ipe,  and 
•avelliiig 
it  ])airol 
id  and  a 
)re.    So, 


easing  the  sail,  we  brought  our  shallop  before  the  wind. 
It  was  very  dark,  and  there  was  a  heavy  surf  running; 
but  we  had  to  take  our  fortune  as  it  came,  and  we  let 
drive  for  the  unknown  shore,  for  it  was  all  alike  to  us. 
Presently,  as  wo  ran  close  in,  our  boat  came  hanl  upon  a 
rock,  which  bulged  her  bows  open.  Taking  what  i)rovis- 
ions  we  could,  we  left  our  poor  craft  upon  the  rocks,  aud 
fought  our  way  to  safety. 

We  had  little  joy  that  night  in  thinking  of  our  shallop 
breaking  on  the  reefs,  and  we  discussed  the  chances  of 
crossing  overland  to  Louisburg  ;  but  we  soon  gave  u])  that 
wild  dream  :  this  river  was  the  oidv  wav.  AVhen  davliuht 
came,  we  found  our  boat,  though  badly  wrecked,  sliil  held 
together.  Now  Clark  rose  to  the  great  necessity,  and  said 
that  he  vmuld  patch  her  up  to  carry  us  on,  or  never  lift  a 
hammer  more.  With  labour  past  reckoning  we  dragged 
her  to  shore  aiul  got  her  on  the  stocks,  and  then  set  about 
to  find  materials  to  mend  lier.  Tools  were  all  too  few — a 
hammer,  a  saw,  and  an  adze  were  all  we  had.  A  piece  of 
board  or  a  nail  was  a  treasure  tlien,  and  when  the  ti.nDers 
of  the  craft  were  covered,  for  oakum  we  had  to  rcsoj't  to 
tree-gum.  For  caulking,  one  spared  a  handkerchief,  an- 
other a  stocking,  and  another  a  piece  of  shirt,  till  she  was 
stuffed  in  all  her  fissures.  In  this  labour  we  pass^ed  eight 
days,  and  then  were  ready  for  the  launch  again. 

On  the  very  afternoon  fixed  for  starting,  we  saw  two 
sails  standimj:  down  the  river  and  edii'in2^  towards  our 
shore.  One  of  them  let  anchor  go  right  olf  the  place 
wdiere  our  patched  boat  lay.  We  had  prudently  carried 
on  our  work  behind  rocks  and  trees,  so  that  wo  could  not 
be  seen,  uidess  our  foes  came  ashore.  Our  case  seemed 
desperate  eiu')ugh,  but  all  at  once  I  determined  on  a  dar- 
ing enterprise. 

The  two  vessels — convoys,  I  felt  sure — had  anchored 
some  distance  from  each  other,  aiul  from  their  mean  ap- 


2U 


THE  SKATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


pcaraiico  I  did  not  tliiuk  tluit  they  would  have  a  large 
fi'eiij^ht  of  UK'U  and  arms;  for  tlioy  seoiiied  not  ships  from 
Franco,  but  vcssols  of  the  country.  If  I  could  divide  the 
force  of  cither  vcssi'l,  and  (piictly,  under  cover  of  night, 


steal 


til 


1  would  trust 


de^ 


te 


esi)erate 

courage,  iind  o[)(Mi  the  war  which  soon  (General  Wolfe  and 
Admiral  Sauiulcrs  were  to  wage  up  an  '.  down  this  river. 

I  luid  brave  fellows  with  me,  and  if  we  got  our  will  it 
would  be  a  thing  worth  remembrance.  So  1  disclosed  my 
l)lan  to  .Ml'.  Stevens  and  the  others,  and,  as  1  looked  for, 
they  had  a  line  relish  for  the  enter})rise.  I  agreed  u})on  a 
signal  with  tiiem,  bade  them  to  lie  close  along  the  grouiul, 
picked  out  the  nearer  (which  was  the  smaller)  shi[)  for  my 
l)ur|)ose,  and  at  stinset,  tying  a,  white  handkerchief  to  a 
stick,  came  marching  out  of  the  woods,  upon  the  shore, 
liring  a  gwn  at  the  same  time.  rre;:ently  a  boat  was  put 
out  from  the  sloop,  and  two  men  aiul  a  boy  came  rowing 
towards  m(\  Standing  off  a  little  distance  from  the  shore, 
they  ask(>d  what  was  wanted, 

"  The  King's  errand,"  was  my  reply  in  French,  and 
I  must  be  carried  down  the  river  by  them,  for  which  I 
woidd  pay  generously.  Then,  with  idle  gesture,  I  said 
that  if  they  wished  some  drink,  there  was  a  bottle  of  rum 
lu'ar  7ny  lire,  above  me,  to  which  they  were  welcome;  also 
some  game,  which  ihey  might  take  as  a  gift  to  their  cap- 
tain and  his  crew. 

This  drew  them  like  a  magnet,  and,  as  I  lit  my  jnpe, 
their  boat  scr!i})ed  the  sand,  and,  getting  out,  they  hauled 
her  up  and  came  towards  me.  I  met  them,  and,  pointing 
towards  my  lire,  as  it  might  apjiear,  led  them  up  behind 
the  rocks,  when,  at  a  sign,  my  men  sprang  up,  the  fellows 
were  seized,  and  were  forbidden  to  cry  out  on  peril  of 
their  lives.  1  compelled  them  to  tell  what  hands  and 
what  arms  were  left  oti  boarv.  The  sloop  from  which 
they  came,  and  the  schooner,  its  consort,  were  bound  for 


5  a  large 
ips  from 
ivide  the 
)f  night, 
lt'Si)L'rato 
\)li'e  and 
IS  river, 
iir  will  it 
losL'd  my 
)ked  for, 
d  upon  a 
i  ground, 
p  for  my 
hief  to  a 
le  shore, 
was  put 
e  rowing 
he  shore, 

ch,  and 
which  I 
,  I  said 
0  of  rum 
me ;  also 
leir  caj)- 

my  l^ipe, 
y  hauled 

lointing 
behind 
3  fellows 

peril  of 
nds  and 
n  which 
lund  for 


ADMIRAL  SAUjXBEKS. 


THE  LORD  OF  KAMARASKA. 


275 


Gaspe,  to  bring  provisions  for  a  thoiisfincl  Indiuns  assem- 
bled at  Miraniiclii  and  Aristiguish,  wlio  were  to  go  by 
these  same  vessels  to  re-eiiforce  the  garrison  of  Quebec. 

The  sloop,  they  said,  liad  six  guns  and  a  crew  of 
twenty  men  ;  but  tlie  schooner,  which  was  niudi  larger, 
carried  no  arms  save  muskets,  but  had  a  crew  and  a  guard 
of  thirty  men. 

In  this  country  there  is  no  twilight,  and  with  sunset 
came  instantly  the  dusk.  Already  silence  and  dark  in- 
closed the  sloo}).  I  had  the  men  bound  to  a  tree,  and 
gagged  also,  engaging  to  return  and  bring  them  awny  safe 
and  unhurt  when  our  task  was  over.  1  chose  for  i)ilot  the 
boy,  and  presently,  with  great  care,  launching  our  })atchcd 
shallop  from  the  stocks — for  the  s]ii])-boat  wus  too  small 
to  carry  six  safeh^ — we  got  (piietly  away.  Jiowing  with 
silent  stroke  we  came  alongside  the  sloop,  Xo  light 
burned  save  that  in  the  binnacle,  and  all  hands,  except 
the  watch,  were  below  at  supper  and  at  cards. 

I  could  see  tlie  watch  pacing  forward  as  we  dropped 
silently  alongside  the  stern.  My  object  was  to  catch  this 
fellow  as  he  came  by.  'J'liis  I  would  trust  to  no  one  but 
myself;  for  now,  grown  stronger,  J  had  the  old  spring  in 
my  blood,  and  I  had  also  a  good  wish  that  my  plans  sliould 
not  go  wrong  through  the  bungling  of  otliers.  I  motioned 
my  men  to  sit  silent,  and  then,  when  the  fellow's  liack  was 
toward  mo,  coming  softly  up  the  side,  I  slid  over  ({uietly 
and  drew  into  the  shadow  of  a  boat  that  hung  near. 

He  came  on  lazily,  and  when  just  past  me  I  suddenly 
threw  my  arms  about  him,  claiiping  my  hand  upon  his 
mouth.  He  was  stoutly  built,  and  he  began  at  once  to 
struggle,  lie  was  no  coward,  and  feeling  for  his  knife, 
drew  it,  and  would  have  had  it  in  me  but  that  I  was 
quicker,  and,  with  a  desperate  wrench,  my  hand  still 
over  his  mouth,  half  swung  him  round  and  drove  my 
dagger  home. 


276 


THE   SEATS  OP  THE   MIGHTY. 


lie  sank  in  my  uriiis  witli  ii  heaving  sigh,  and  I  laid 
liini  down,  still  and  (Uvid,  upon  tiic  deck.  Then  I  whis- 
pered up  my  eoinrades,  llie  boy  leading.  As  tlie  last  man 
eanie  over,  his  pistol,  stuck  in  his  belt,  eaugiit  the  rat- 
lings of  the  shrouds,  and  it  dr()p})ed  u[)ou  the  deek.  This 
irave  the  alarm,  but  1  was  at  the  eompanion-door  on  the 
instant,  as  the  master  came  bounding  up,  sword  showing, 
and  calliug  to  his  meu,  who  swarmed  after  him.  1  liied; 
the  bullet  travelled  along  his  spine,  and  he  fell  back 
stunned. 

A  dozen  others  came  on.  Some  reached  the  deek  and 
grappled  with  my  men.  I  never  shall  foi'gct  with  what 
fiendish  iov  Clark  fouirht  that  luiiht — those  live  terrible 
minutes,  lie  was  like  some  mad  devil,  and  by  his  impre- 
cations I  knew  that  he  wtis  aveni:in!T  the  bi'utal  death  of 
his  infant  daui2:hter  some  vears  before,  lie  was  armed 
with  a  loug  knife,  and  I  saw  four  men  fall  beneath  it, 
while  he  himself  got  but  oue  bad  cut.  Oi'  the  Provin- 
cials, one  fell  wounded,  and  the  other  brought  down  his 
man.  ^Ir.  Stevens  and  myself  held  the  comjianion-way, 
driving  the  crew  back,  not  without  hurt,  for  my  wrist  was 
slashed  by  a  cutlass,  and  Mv.  Stevens  had  a  bullet  in  his 
thigh.  But  presently  we  had  the  joy  of  having  those  be- 
low cry  quarter. 

AVe  were  masters  of  the  sloop.  Quickly  battening 
down  the  prisoners,  I  had  the  sails  spread,  the  windliiss 
going,  the  anchor  apeak  quickly,  and  we  soon  were  mov- 
ing down  uj>on  the  schooner,  whicdi  was  now  all  con- 
fusion, commands  ringing  out  on  the  quiet  air.  But 
when,  laying  alongside,  we  gave  her  a  dose,  and  then 
another,  from  all  our  swivels  at  once,  swee})ing  her  decks, 
the  timid  fellows  cried  quarter,  and  we  boarded  her. 
With  mv  men's  muskets  cocked,  1  ordered  her  crew  and 
soldiers  below,  till  they  were  all,  save  two  lusty  youths, 
stowed  awav.     Then  1  had  evervthiuii:  of  value  broujiht 


WITH  WOLFE  AT  MONTMORENCI. 


277 


aud  I  Itiid 
leii  I  whLs- 
lu  last  mail 
lit  till)  rat- 
leck.  This 
our  on  the 
I  showing, 
1.  1  liiL'd ; 
I'l'U    back 

13  deck  aud 
witli  wliat 
ve  terrible 
liis  iinpre- 
1  death  of 
,vas  armed 
)eneath  it, 
le  Proviu- 
doAvn  his 
111  ion- way, 
'  wrist  was 
llet  in  liis 
•  those  be- 


from  tlie  sloop,  together  with  the  swivels,  which  we  fast- 
ened to  the  sciiooner's  side  ;  and  when  all  was  done,  wo 
set  lire  to  the  sloop,  and  1  stood  and  watched  her  burn 
with  a  proud — too  proud — spirit. 

Having  brought  our  prisoners  from  the  shore,  we 
])]aced  them  with  the  rest  below.  At  dawn  I  called  a 
council  with  Mr.  Stevens  and  the  others — our  one  wound- 
ed I'rovincial  was  not  omitted— and  we  all  agreed  that 
some  of  our  captives  should  be  sent  oil  in  the  long  boat, 
and  that  a  portion  of  the  rest  should  be  used  to  work  the 
shi]).  So  we  had  half  the  fellows  up,  and  giving  them 
tishing-lines,  rum,  and  provisions,  with  a  couple  of  mus- 
kets and  ammunition,  we  sent  them  oil  to  shift  for  them- 
selves, and,  raising  anchor,  we  got  on  our  way  down  the 
broad  river,  in  perfect  weather. 

The  days  that  followed  are  like  a  good  dream  to  me, 
for  we  came  on  all  the  way  without  challenge  and  with 
no  adventure,  even  round  Gaspe,  to  Louisburg,  thirty- 
eight  days  after  my  escape  from  the  fortress. 


XXIII. 


batten  in  £: 

CD 

e  windLiss 
were  mov- 
V  all  con- 
air.      But 

and  then 
lu>r  decks, 
rded    her. 

crew  and 
ty  youths, 
[}  brought 


WITH    WOLFE   AT   MOXTMOREXCI. 

At  Louisbur2:  we  found  that  Admiral  Saunders  and 
Oeneral  Wolfe  were  gone  to  Quel)ec.  They  had  passed  us 
;is  we  came  down,  for  we  had  sailed  inside  some  islands 
of  the  coast,  getting  shelter  and  better  passage,  and  the 
fleet  had,  no  doubt,  passed  outside.  This  was  a  blow  to 
me,  for  I  hnd  hoped  to  be  in  time  to  join  General  Wolfe 
and  proceed  with  him  to  Quebec,  where  my  knowledge  of 
the  place  should  be  of  service  to  him.  It  was,  however, 
no  time  for  lament,  and  I  set  about  to  find  my  Avay  back 
again.  Our  prisoners  I  handed  over  to  the  authorities. 
19 


278 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


The  two  rrovincials  deciilcd  to  remain  and  take  service 
under  General  Amlierst;  3Ir.  Stevens  would  join  his  own 
Hangers  at  once,  but  Clark  would  go  back  with  mo  to 
have  his  hour  with  his  hated  foes. 

I  paid  Mr.  Stevens  and  the  two  Provijieials  for  their 
shares  in  the  schooner,  and  Clark  and  I  manned  Iier 
afresh,  and  prei)ared  to  return  instantly  to  (Quebec. 
From  (Jeneral  Amherst  I  received  corres])ondence  to 
carry  to  Ceneral  Woli'e  and  Admiral  Saunders.  Before 
I  started  back,  I  sent  letters  to  (Jovernor  ])inwiddie  and 
to  Mr.  (now  Colonel)  Ceorge  Washington,  but  1  had  no 
sooner  done  so  than  1  received  others  from  tliem  through 
General  Amherst.  They  had  been  sent  to  him  to  convey 
to  General  Wolfe  at  Quebec,  who  was,  in  turn,  to  hand 
them  to  me,  when,  as  was  hoped,  I  should  be  released 
from  captivity,  if  not  already  beyond  the  power  of  men  to 
free  me. 

The  letters  from  these  fi-iends  almost  atoned  for  my 
past  sufferings,  and  I  was  ashamed  that  ever  I  had 
thought  my  countrymen  forgot  me  in  my  misery;  for  this 
was  the  first  matter  I  saw  when  I  opened  the  Governor's 
letter  : 

By  tlie  House  of  Hurgesses. 
Resolved,  That   the  sum  of  three  hundred  ponuds  be 
paid  to  Captain  Robert  Moray,  in  consideration  of  his 
services  to  the  country  and  his  singular  sufferings  in  his 
confinement,  as  a  hostage,  in  Quebec. 

This,  I  learned,  was  one  of  three  such  resolutions. 

But  there  were  other  matters  in  his  letter  which  much 
amazed  me.  An  attempt,  the  Governor  said,  liad  been 
made  one  dark  night  upoii  his  strong-room,  which  would 
have  succeeded  but  for  the  great  bravery  and  loyalty  of 
an  old  retainer.  Two  men  were  engaged  in  the  attempt, 
one  of  whom  was  a  French  num.     Both  men  were  masked, 


/  ])Oinids  he 

■at ion  of  hi.^ 

riu(js  in  his 


ions. 

wliich  much 
id,  had  been 
which  would 
id  loyidty  of 
the  attempt, 
A'cre  masked, 


WITH  WOLFR  AT  MONTMOUEXCI. 


279 


like  service 
nil  his  own 
tvith  me  to 

ds  for  their 
naniied  her 
to  (Quebec, 
ondeiice  to 
;rs.  liefore 
iwiddie  and 
it  I  had  no 
em  througli 
n  to  convey 
rn,  to  iiand 
be  released 
jr  of  men  to 

oned  for  my 
ever   I   had 

ery ;  for  this        i 
D  Governor's 


! 


and,  when  set  upon,  fou^ijht  with  cousumnuite  bravery, 
nnd  escaped.  It  wus  found  the  next  day  that  the  safe 
of  my  partner  liad  also  been  rilliMl  and  all  my  papers 
stolen.  There  was  no  douht  in  my  mind  what  this 
meant.  Doltaire,  with  some  ronej^^ade  \irginian  who 
knew  Williamsburg  and  mysi'lf,  had  made  essay  to  get 
my  papers.  But  they  had  failed  in  their  designs,  for  all 
my  valualjle  documents — and  tlic'i  desired  by  Doltaire 
umoniT  them — remained  safe  in    the  (Governor's  stronir- 


o 


room. 

I  got  away  again  for  (^uebee  live  days  after  reaching 
Louisbnrg.  AVe  came  along  with  good  winds,  having  no 
cheek,  though  twiee  we  sighted  French  sloops,  which, 
however,  seemed  most  concerned  to  leave  us  to  ourselves. 
At  last,  with  colours  flying,  we  siglited  Kamaraskji  Isles, 
which  I  saluted,  remembering  the  Chevalier  de  la  l)a- 
rante  ;  then  Isle  aux  Coudres,  below  which  we  poor  fugi- 
tives came  so  near  disaster.  Here  we  all  felt  new  fer- 
vour, for  the  British  flag  flew  from  a  staff  on  a  lofty  point, 
tents  were  pitched  thereon  in  a  pretty  cluster,  and,  round- 
ing a  point,  we  came  plump  upon  Admiral  Durell's  little 
fleet,  which  was  here  to  bar  the  advance  of  French  ships 
and  to  waylay  stragglers. 

On  a  blithe  summer  day  we  sighted,  far  off,  the  Isle 
of  Orleans  and  the  tall  masts  of  two  patrol  ships  of  war, 
wliich  in  due  time  we  passed,  saluting,  and  ran  abreast  of 
the  island  in  the  North  Channel.  Coming  up  this  pas- 
sage, 1  could  see  on  an  eminence,  far  distant,  the  tower  of 
the  Chateau  Alixe ! 

Presently  there  opened  on  our  sight  the  great  bluff  at 
the  Falls  of  Montmorenci,  and.  crownincf  it  with  tents 
and  batteries,  the  camp  of  General  Wolfe  himself,  and  the 
good  ship  Centurion  standing  oil'  like  a  sentinel  at  a  point 
where  the  Basin,  the  river  31ontmorenci,  and  the  Xorth 
Channel  seem  to  meet.    To  our  left,  across  the  shoals,  was 


280 


THE  SEATS  OP  THE  MIOIITY. 


Major  IIanly\s  post,  on  tlio  extroino  eastern  point  of  tlio 
Isle  of  Orleans;  ami  aL,^•lin  beyond  that,  in  a  straiujht  line, 
Point  Levis  on  the  south  shore,  where  lii'i^'ailier-lJenerai 
^lonekton's  eanip  was  pitdu'd  ;  and  farther  on  his  bat- 
teries, from  which  shell  and  shot  wei-e  ])onred  into  the 
town.  How  all  had  elianufed  in  the  two  months  sinee  I 
left  there  !  Around  the  Seii2:nenr  Dnvarnev's  manor,  in 
the  sweet  villai^e  of  lieaupoi't,  was  encamped  the  French 
army,  and  redoubts  and  batteries  were  ran<j^ed  where  Alixe 
and  1  and  her  brother  Juste  had  many  a  time  walki'd  in  a 
sylvan  quiet.  Here,  as  it  were,  round  the  bent  and  broken 
sides  of  a  bowl,  war  raL,^ed,  and  the  centre  was  like  some 
caldron,  out  of  which  im})s  of  ships  s})rang  to  hand  up 
tires  of  hell  to  the  battalions  on  the  led<a's.  Here  swnn<x 
Admiral  Saunders's  and  Admiral  Holmes's  divisions,  out 
of  reach  of  the  Fi'ench  batteries,  yet  able  to  menace  and 
destroy  and  to  feed  the  British  camps  with  men  and 
munitions.  There  were  no  French  ships  in  sight— only 
two  old  hulks  with  guns  in  the  mouth  of  the  St.  Charles 
River,  to  protect  the  road  to  the  jialace  gate — that  is,  the 
gate  at  the  Intendanee. 

It  was  all  there  before  me,  the  investment  of  Quebec, 
for  which  I  had  prayed  aiul  waited  seven  long  y^ars. 

All  at  once,  on  a  lull  in  the  fighting  which  had  lasted 
twenty-four  hours,  the  heavy  batteries  from  the  Levis 
shore  opened  upon  the  town,  emptying  therein  the  fatal 
fuel.  Mixed  feelings  possessed  me.  I  had  at  first  listened 
to  Clark's  delighted  imprecations  a?id  devilish  praises  with 
a  feeling  of  brag  almost  akin  to  his  own — that  was  the 
soldier  and  the  Briton  in  me.  lint  all  at  once  the  man, 
the  lover,  and  the  husl)and  s})oke :  my  wife  was  in  that 
beleaguered  town  under  that  monstrous  shower  !  She  hiid 
said  that  she  would  never  leave  it  till  I  came  to  fetch  her. 
Yet  might  she  not  be  di-ad — or,  if  living,  immured  in  a 
convent?     For  I  knew  well  that  our  marriaire  must  be- 


)()int  of  the 
tnii<;ht  line, 
lic'i'-(i('n('rul 
oil  his  biit- 
t'd  into  the 
nths  since  1 
a  niiinor,  in 
tlie  French 
wile  re  Alixe 
w  a  lived  in  a 
und  broken 
s  like  sonic 
to  hiind  np 
Llere  swnng 
ivisions,  ont 
meiuice  and 
dIi  men  and 
sight— only 
!  St.  Charles 
-that  is,  the 


t  of  Qnehcc, 
■  y^iivs. 
h  had  lasted 
1  the  Levis 
ein  the  fatal 
first  listened 

praises  with 
,liat  was  the 
ice  the  man, 

was  in  that 
3r !  She  had 
to  fetch  her. 
mniured  in  a 
,o:e  mnst  be- 


i-> 


^ 


5|vv7( ' /■: li  S!'L AW KUNck. 

/)•('///  //ft' 
Falls  ofMoiMiiiorciu'i  loSillrry  ;| 
ri'M  /At'/>/ft'ni//r//,t  <>/'///,' 


^</'ii(Am 


h. 


)H 


»->. 


fit 


'.';■.<.«.. 


Q«L 


<i^t«». 


V'C.    J/7VK     K. 


■■.*>' 


Lu 


u  >■ 


'i.J 


¥.  ( 


Vt. 


.<^^..,./'i'^ 


ififinfnino 


--v^s.. 


"^ ' .'J^>  '?\7„/.''t;'.''''>^"/''   .yv 


♦  "C  "W!f/,./  •'!'"°">" 


/J 


:</ Admiral        'C.ih'.mi^Uffi^i     ■>.      is^«i— ^^     _'' 


rV^.J/-«A',^, 


•«: 


Jleivrenccs 

3 .  Sta  fforue  . 

4jSiptiny/ 


J.  Ttmuf/t^-fu  n  vH  Tnro/itf  ry/r^/ih' 
Zojtdin^^,  a^f  t/u  FinttBoAi^unt  /imI 

6  JSaqt'yf  t/iat-dt'rti'rtt/ t/u  Xriftny^  0114/ 
tvn'/iuA  thfBoaA/  jnaei-h/ t/uii- /at^ 
tivfyr/t/uFlfff^/hmnj'Jii^  c^'Ii'rf . 


Bn'iiJAMi/M 


=*— t 


rVCTIO  .V  g-.iiiuNnnttiprA^iLI.SIt 


Kiriifli 

Ai'iiiv 


^^^^■^■^ 


»  tJI*   /.nil'."'"   \>' .       V        >« 


'■e  /tivj.:^ 


at  tA/.4l/4u/: 


7^      CUannel 


WITH  WOLFE  AT  M0XTM0RE^X1. 


281 


come  known  after  I  Imd  escaped  ;  tliat  she  would  not,  for 
iier  own  good  pride  and  womanliood,  keep  it  secret  tlien  ; 
that  it  would  be  proclaimed  while  yet  (jabord  and  the 
excellent  chaplain  were  alive  to  attest  all. 

Summoned  by  the  Centurion,  we  were  passed  onbeyoud 
the  eastern  point  of  the  Isle  of  Orleans  to  the  admiral's 
ship,  which  lay  in  the  channel  oil  the  point,  with  battle- 
sliips  in  front  and  rear,  and  a  line  of  frigates  curving 
towards  tlie  rocky  i)eninsu]a  of  Quebec.  Then  came  a 
line  of  buoys  beyond  these,  with  numned  boats  moored 
alongside  to  protect  the  fleet  from  Are  rafts,  which  once 
already  the  enemy  had  unavailingly  sent  down  to  ruin  and 
burn  our  fleet. 

Admiral  Saunders  received  me  with  great  cordiality, 
thanked  me  for  the  dispatches,  heard  with  applause  of  my 
adventures  with  the  convoy,  and  at  once,  with  dry  humour, 
said  he  would  be  glad,  if  General  Wolfe  consented,  to 
make  my  captured  schooner  one  of  his  fleet.  Later,  wlien 
her  history  and  doings  became  known  in  the  fleet,  she  was 
at  once  called  the  Terror  of  France  ;  for  she  did  a  wild 
thing  or  two  before  Quebec  fell,  though  from  first  to  last 
she  had  but  her  six  swivel  guns,  which  I  had  taken  from 
the  burned  sloop.    Clark  had  command  of  her. 

From  Admiral  Saunders  I  learned  that  ]5i<jot  had  re- 
covered  from  his  hurt,  which  had  not  been  severe,  and  of 
the  death  of  Monsieur  Couriuil,  who  had  ridden  his  horse 
over  the  clilT  in  the  dark.  From  the  admii-al  I  came  to 
General  Wolfe  at  jMontmorenci. 

I  sliall  never  forget  my  first  look  at  my  hei'o,  that 
flaming,  exhaustless  spirit,  in  a  body  so  ;/((firJte  and  so  un- 
shapely. When  I  was  brought  to  him,  ho  was  standing 
on  a  knoll  alone,  looking  through  a  glass  towards  the  bat- 
teries of  Levis.  Tlie  first  thing  that  struck  me,  as  he 
lowered  the  glass  and  leaned  agjiinst  a  gun,  was  the  mel- 
ancholy in  the  lino  of  his  figure.     I  never  forget  that,  for 


282 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


it  seemed  to  me  even  then  thut,  whatever  glory  there  was 
for  British  arms  ahead,  there  was  tragedy  for  him.  Yet, 
as  he  turned  at  the  sound  of  our  footsteps,  I  almost 
laughed  ;  for  his  straight  red  liair,  his  face  defying  all 
regularity,  with  the  nose  thrust  out  like  a  wedge  and  the 
chin  falling  back  from  an  tdl'ectionate  sort  of  mouth,  his 
tall,  straggling  frame  and  far  from  athletic  shoulders,  all 
challenged  contrast  with  the  compact,  haiulsome,  gracious- 
ly sha})ed  Montcalm.  In  Montcalm  was  all  manner  of 
things  to  charm — all  save  that  which  presently  tilled  mo 
with  awe,  and  showed  me  wherein  this  sallow-featured, 
pain-racked  Briton  was  greater  than  his  rival  beyond 
measure  :  in  that  searching,  burning  eye,  which  carried 
all  the  distinction  and  greatness  denied  him  elsewhere. 
There  resolution,  courage,  endurance,  deep  design,  clear 
vision,  dogged  will,  and  heroism  lived  :  a  bright  furnace 
of  daring  resolves,  which  gave  Englaiul  her  sound  desire. 

An  ollicer  of  his  stalf  presented  me.  The  General 
looked  at  me  with  piercing  intelligence,  and  then,  pres- 
ently, his  long  hand  made  a  swift  motion  of  knowledge 
and  greeting,  and  he  said  : 

"  Yes,  yes,  aiul  you  are  welcome,  Captain  Moray.  I 
have  heard  of  you,  of  much  to  your  credit.  You  were  for 
years  in  durance  there.'" 

lie  pointed  towards  the  town,  where  we  could  see  the 
dome  of  the  cathedral  shine,  and  the  leaping  smoke  and 
flame  of  the  roaring  batteries. 

"  Six  vears,  vour  Excellcncv,"  said  I. 

"Papers  of  yours  fell  into  CJeneral  Braddock's  hands, 
and  they  tried  you  for  a  spy — a  curious  case — a  curious 
case!  Wherein  were  they  wrong  and  you  justified,  and 
why  was  all  exchange  refused  V" 

I  told  him  the  main,  the  bare  facts,  and  how,  to  force 
certain  papers  from  me,  1  had  been  hounded  to  the  edge 
of  the  grave,    lie  nodded,  and  seemed  lost  in  study  of  the 


WITH  WOLFE  AT  MONTMORENCI. 


283 


V  there  was 
him.  Yet, 
,  I  almost 
defyiiiff  all 
ic:e  and  the 
mouth,  his 
[Oulders,  all 
e,  gracious- 
manner  of 
ly  tilled  me 
\v-i'eatared, 
val  bovond 
ich  carried 
elsewhere, 
esign,  clear 
^ht  furnace 
md  desire, 
he  General 
then,  pres- 
knowledge 

Moray.     I 
on  were  for 

)uld  see  the 
smoke  and 


)ck's  hands, 
— a  curious 
istified,  and 

ow,  to  force 
to  tlie  edge 
study  of  the 


mud-flats  at  the  Beauport  shore,  and  presently  took  to 
beating  his  foot  upon  the  ground.  After  a  minute,  as  if 
he  had  come  back  from  a  distance,  he  said  :  "  Yes,  yes, 
broken  articles.  Few  women  have  a  sense  of  national 
honour,  such  as  La  Tompadour  none!  iVn  interestiuir 
matter." 

Then,  after  a  moment :  "  You  shall  talk  with  our 
chief  engineer  ;  you  know  the  town  ;  you  should  be  use- 
ful to  me.  Captain  Moray.  What  do  you  suggest  concern- 
ing this  siege  of  ours?" 

"  Has  any  attack  been  made  from  above  the  town,  your 
Excellency  ?  " 

He  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "  Is  it  vulnerable  from  there  ? 
From  Cap  Rouge,  you  mean  ?  " 

"They  have  you  at  advantage  everywhere,  sir,"  I 
said.  "  A  thousand  men  could  keep  the  town,  so  long 
as  this  river,  those  mud-flats,  and  those  high  cliffs  are 
there." 

"  But  above  the  town " 

"  Above  the  citadel  there  is  a  way — the  only  way :  a 
feint  from  the  basin  here,  a  sham  menace  and  attack,  and 
the  real  action  at  the  other  door  of  the  town." 

"  They  will,  of  course,  throw  fresh  strength  and  vigi- 
lance above,  if  our  fleet  run  their  batteries  and  attack 
there ;  the  river  at  Cap  Eouge  is  like  this  Montmorenci 
for  defence."  lie  shook  his  head.  "  There  is  no  wav,  I 
fear." 

"  General,"  said  I,  "  if  you  will  take  me  into  your  serv- 
ice, and  then  give  me  leave  to  liandlc  my  little  schooner 
in  this  basin  and  in  the  river  above,  I  will  prove  that  you 
may  take  your  army  into  Quebec,  by  entering  it  myself, 
and  returning  with  that  as  precious  to  me  as  the  taking 
of  Quebec  to  you." 

He  looked  at  me  piercingly  for  a  minute,  then  a  sour 
sort  of  smile  played  at  his  lips.     "  A  woman !  "  he  said. 


284 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY, 


"  Well,  it  were  not  tlie  first  time  the  love  of  a  wench 
opened  the  gates  to  a  nation's  victory." 

"  Love  of  a  wife,  sir,  should  carry  a  man  farther." 

He  turned  on  mo  a  commanding  look.  "  Speak 
plainly,"  said  he.  "  If  we  are  to  use  vou,  let  us  know  you 
in  all." 

He  waved  farther  back  the  ofliccrs  with  him. 

"  I  have  no  other  wish,  your  Excellency,"  I  answered 
him.  Then  I  told  him  brieliy  of  the  Seigneur  Duvarney, 
of  Alixe,  and  of  Doltaire. 

"Duvarney!  Duvarney!"  he  said,  and  a  liglit  came 
into  his  look.  Then  he  called  an  otlicer.  "  A\'as  it  not 
one  Seigneur  Duvarney  who  this  morning  jirayed  ])ro- 
tection  for  his  chateau  on  the  Isle  of  Orleans?"  he  asked. 

" Even  so,  vour  Excellencv,"  was  the  renlv;  "and  he 
said  that  if  Captain  ]\Ioray  was  with  us,  he  would  sundy 
speak  for  the  humanity  and  kinilness  he  and  his  house- 
hold had  shown  to  British  prisoners." 

"You  speak,  then,  for  this  gentleman?"  he  asked, 
with  a  drv  sort  of  smile. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  I  answered.  "  But  why  does  he 
ask  protection  at  this  late  day?" 

"New  orders  are  issued  to  lay  wjistc  the  country; 
hitherto  all  property  was  safe,"  was  the  Cenerars  reply. 
'  See  that  the  Seigneur  Duvarney's  suit  is  granted,"  he, 
added  to  his  officer,  "  and  sav  that  it  is  by  Caj)tain  ]\Iorav"s 
intervention. — There  is  another  matter  of  this  kind  to 
be  arranged  this  noon,"  he  continued:  "an  exchange  of 
prisoners,  among  whom  are  some  ladies  of  birth  and  breed- 
ing, captured  l)ut  two  days  ago.  A  gentleman  comes 
from  General  ^Montcalm  directly  uj)on  the  point.  You 
might  be  useful  herein,"  he  added,  "  if  you  will  come  to 
my  tent  in  an  hour."     lie  turned  to  go. 

"  And  my  ship,  and  permission  to  enter  the  town,  your 
Excellency  ?  "  I  asked. 


4 


f  a  wencli 

•ther." 

'^  Speak 
i  know  you 

1. 

[  answered 

Duvarnev, 

iglit  came 
\  as  it  not 
rayed  pro- 
'  lie  asked. 
;  "and  lie 
•uld  surcily 
his  house- 
lie  asked, 
liy  does  lie 

country  ; 
al's  iv])lv. 
Lilted,"  he, 
in  iMorav's 
is  kind  to 
:ch;inge  of 
md  breed- 
laii  conies 
int.  You 
11  come  to 

:own,  your 


a 


WITH   WOLFE  AT  MONTMOUKNCT. 
What  do  you  call  your— shii)?"  he  asked   a   li 


285 


ittle 
grimly, 

I  told  him  how  the  sailors  had  already  clii'istened  her. 
He  smiled.  "Then  let  her  prove  her  title  to  Terror  of 
France,"  he  said,  "  by  being  pilot  to  the  rest  ol'  our  iluet  up 
the  river,  and  you.  Captain  Moray,  be  guide  to  a  fooling 
on  those  heights"— he  pointed  to  the  towu.  "Then  this 
army  and  its  General,  aiul  all  J^nglaiid,  plense  (.od,  Avill 
thank  you.  Your  craft  shall  liave  commission  as  a  ro\er 
— but  if  she  gets  into  trouble?" 

"  Slie  will  do  as  her  owner  has  done  these  six  years, 
your  Excellency  :  she  will  tjglit  lier  way  out  alone."  " 

Jle  gazed  long  at  the  town  and  jit  the  Levis  sliore. 
"  From  above,  then,  thei-e  is  a  way  ':' " 

"For  proof,  if  I  come  bark  ;dive " 

"For    proof   that   you   hav(i    be(Mi "  he   answered 

meaningly,  with  an  amused  ihi.^h  ol'  liis  vyor^^  tlioiigli  at 
the  very  moment  a  spasm  of  i)ain  crossed  liis  face,  for  lie 
was  suffering  from  an  incurable  disease,  and  went  about 
his  great  task  in  daily  misery,  vet  cheerful  and  insnirin"- 

"For  proof,  my  wife,  sii'I"  said  L 

lie  nodded,  but  his  thoughts  were  diverted  instantly, 
and  he  went  from  me  at  bnc(>  al)sti-a('ted.  Lut  airain  he 
came  back.  "If  you  return,"  said  he,  "you  shall  serve 
upon  my  statf.  You  will  care  to  view  our  operations,"  lie 
added,  motioning  towards  the  intrenchments  at  the  rivei-. 
Then  he  stepped  quickly  away,  and  I  was  taken  by  an 
officer  to  the  river,  and  though  my  heart  warmed  within 
me  to  hear  that  an  attack  was  ]ursently  to  be  made  from 
the  shore,  not  far  distant  from  the  falls,  I  felt  that  the 
attempt  could  not  succeed  :  the  f-^reiudi  were  too  Avell 
intrenched. 

At  the  close  of  an  hour  I  returned  to  the  (lenerars 
tent.  It  was  luncheon-time,  and  they  were  about  to  sit  as 
I  was  announced.     The  CJeneral  motioned  me  to  a  seat. 


280 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


and  then  iiguin,  us  if  on  second  thought,  made  as  though 
to  introduce  me  to  some  one  wiio  stood  beside  him.  My 
amazement  was  unbouncknl  when  I  saw,  smiling  cynically 
at  me,  ^lonsieur  Doltaire  ! 

lie  was  the  envoy  from  Quebec.  I  looked  him  in  the 
eyes  steadily  for  a  moment,  into  nudicious,  unsv/erving 
eyes,  as  maliciously  and  unswervingly  myself;  and  then 
we  both  bowed. 

"  Captain  ]\loray  and  I  have  sat  at  meat  together  be- 
fore," he  said,  with  mannered  coolness.  "  We  have  played 
host  and  guest  also :  but  that  was  ere  he  won  our  hearts 
by  bold,  romantic  feats.  fStill,  I  dared  scarcely  hope  to 
meet  him  at  this  table." 

"  Which  is  sacred  to  good  manners,"  said  I,  mean- 
ingly and  coolly,  for  my  anger  and  sur^irise  were  too  deep 
for  excitement. 

I  saw  the  General  look  at  both  of  us  keenlv,  then  his 
marvellous  eyes  flashed  intelligence,  and  a  grim  smile 
played  at  his  lips  a  moment.  After  a  little  general  con- 
versation Doltaire  addressed  me: 

"  We  are  not  yet  so  overwhelmed  with  war  but  your 
being  here  again  will  give  a  fdlip  to  our  gossip.  It  must 
seem  sad  to  you — you  were  so  long  with  us — you  have 
broken  bread  with  so  many  of  us — to  see  us  pelted  so. 
Sometimes  a  dinner-table  is  disordered  by  a  riotous  shell." 

lie  was  bent  on  torturing  me.  It  was  not  hard  to  do 
that,  for  how  knew  I  what  had  hapjiened  !  How  was  it 
he  came  ba»^-k  so  soon  from  the  Hastile?  It  was  incred- 
ible. Perhaps  he  had  never  gone,  in  spite  of  all.  After 
luncheon,  tlie  matter  of  exchange  of  ])risoners  was  gone 
into,  and  one  by  one  the  names  of  the  P'rench  prisoners 
in  our  hands — ladies  aiid  gentlemen  a])prehended  at  the 
chdteau — were  ticked  off,  and  I  knew  them  all  save  two. 
The  General  deferred  to  me  several  times  as  to  the  per- 
sons and  positions  of  the  captives,  and  asked  my  sugges' 


.IS  ihougli 
liiin.     ^ly 

^  cynieully 


liim  ill  the 

msv/erving 

uiid  then 


gether  be- 
lli ve  pUiyed 
our  hearts 
ly  hope  to 

I,  mean- 
•e  too  deep 


V,  then  liis 
;rHii  smile 
sncral  con- 

'  but  your 
.  It  must 
-you  liave 

pelted  so. 
;ous  shell." 
hard  to  do 
low  was  it 
vas  incred- 
all.  After 
5  was  gone 
1  prisoners 
ided  at  the 

save  two. 
to  the  per- 
iiy  sugges' 


WITH   WOLFE  AT  MONTMOllENCI. 


2S7 


tions.  Immediately  I  proposed  Mr.  Waindeet,  the  chap- 
lain, in  exchange  for  a  i)risoner,  thougli  his  name  was  not 
on  the  list,  but  Doltaire  shook  his  head  in  a  blank  sort 
of  wav. 

"Mr.  AVainileet!  lh\  Wainileet !  There  was  no 
such  prisoner  in  the  town,"  he  said. 

I  insisted,  but  he  stared  at  me  inscrutably,  and  said 
tliat  he  had  no  record  of  the  man.  Then  I  spoke  most 
forcibly  to  the  General,  and  said  that  :\rr.  Waijilleet  should 
be  produced,  or  an  account  of  him  be  given  by  the  French 
Governor.     IJoltaire  then  said  : 

"  I  am  only  responsible  for  these  names  recorded.  Our 
General  trusts  to  your  honour,  jind  you  to  ours,  Mon- 
sieur le  Geiicrale." 

There  was  nothing  more  to  say,  and  presently  the  ex- 
changes were  arranged,  and,  after  compHments,  Doltaire 
took  his  leave.  I  left  the  Governor  also,  and  followed 
Doltaire.     lie  turned  to  meet  me. 

"  Captain  ^loray  and  I,"  he  remarked  to  the  officers 
near,  "  are  old — enemies;  and  there  is  a  sad  sweetness  in 
meetings  like  these.     May  I " 

The  ofliccrs  drew  away  at  a  little  distance  before  the 
suggestion  was  really  made,  and  we  were  left  alone.  I 
was  in  a  white  heat,  but  yet  in  fair  control. 

"  You  are  surprised  to  see  me  here,"  lie  said.  "  Did 
you  think  the  Bastile  was  for  me  ?  Tut  I  I  had  not  got 
out  of  the  country  when  a  piicket  came,  bearing  fresh 
commands.  La  Pompadour  forgave  me,  and  in  the 
King's  name  bade  me  return  to  ^'ew  France,  aiul  in  her 
own  she  bade  me  get  your  papers,  or  hang  you  straight. 
And — you  will  think  it  singular — if  need  bo,  I  was  to 
relieve  the  Governor,  and  Bigot  also,  and  work  to  save 
Kew  France  with  the  excellent  ^larquis  de  ^lontcalm." 
lie  laughed.  "  Yow  can  see  how  absurd  that  is.  I  luive 
held  my  peace,  and  I  keep  my  commission  in  my  pocket." 


2SS 


THE  SKATS  OF  TllK  :MlC.nTV. 


I  looked  lit  him  iiiiKi/cil  that  ho  should  toll  mo  thi.-;. 
lie  road  mv  look,  and  said  : 

"  Vos,  you  are  my  eoufidaut  in  tlTn.  I  do  not  fear 
you.  Your  onomy  is  Ixjund  in  lionour,  your  friend  may 
seelv  to  serve  himself."  Ao-uin  lie  lauglied.  "  As  if  I, 
Tinoir  Doltaii'e— note  the  agreeable  eondjinatioii  of 
])easant  and  genlleman  in  my  name — who  held  his  hand 
fi'om  and)ition  lor  large  t lungs  in  1*' ranee,  should  stake 
a  lifetime  on  this  foolisii  hazard  !  When  1  play,  ('ai>tain 
^loray,  it  is  for  things  large  and  viial.  Else  1  renudn 
tlie  idler,  tin-  courtier — tlie  son  of  the  King." 

"  ^'et  you  lend  your  vast  talent,  the  genius  of  those 
unknown  possibilities,  to  this,  monsieur — this  little  busi- 
lu'ss  of  exchange  (d'  })risone!'s,'''  1  retorted  ironieally. 

"  That  is  my  whim — a  social  eourtesy." 

"  You  said  you  knew  nothing  of  the  chaplain,"  I 
broke  out. 

"  Xot  so.  1  said  he  was  on  no  record  given  mc. 
Odicially  J  know  nothing  of  Idm." 

''  Come,"  said  1,  "you  know  wcdl  how  1  am  concerned 
for  him.      '^'ou  (piiltblc  ;  you  lied  to  our  ("ieneral." 

A  wi(d<ed  light  shoiu'  in  his  eyes.  "  I  choose  to  ])ass 
that  by,  for  the  moment,"  said  he.  "  T  am  sorrv  von  for- 
get yourself ;  it  were  better  for  you  and  me  to  be  cour- 
teous till  our  liour  of  reckoning.  Shall  we  not  meet  to 
purpose  some  day?"  he  said,  with  a  sweet  hatred  in  his 
tone. 

'*  Witli  ad  my  heart." 

"  Ihit  where  V  " 

"  In  yonder  town,"  said   I,  pointing. 

lie  lauglied  ])rovoking]y.  '^  You  are  melodramatic," 
he  rejoined.  "I  could  liold  tliat  town  witli  one  thou- 
sand u.en  au-ainst  all  vour  armv  and  live  times  vour  Heet." 

"  Y'ou  have  ever  talked  and  nothing  done,"  said  I. 
"  Will  yen  tell  me  the  truth  concerning  the  chaplain  ?  " 


14 


I 


WITH   WOr.FF.   AT   MONTMOREXCr. 


281) 


11  rue  thi-s. 

()  not  fciir 
'riciul  HKiy 
''As  if  I, 
nation  of 
1  his  liiind 
oiild  slaku 
y,  ('ji})taiii 
:  1  roniaiii 

8  of  tliosn 
littk'  biisi- 
•ully. 

apluiii,"    I 


given  me. 


concerned 

I." 

se  to  ])ass 

•y  yon  for- 

o  be  coiir- 

ot  meet  to 

red  in  his 


dramatic," 
one  llioii- 
•oiir  licet." 
e,"  said  I. 
iplain  ?  " 


1 


"  Yes,  in  private  the  truth  you  shall  hear,"  he  said. 
"  The  man  is  dead." 

"  If  you  speak  true,  he  was  mui'dered,"  I  broke  out. 
"  Vou  know  well  why  I  " 

"Ac,  no,"  he  answered.  "  lie  was  put  in  prison,  es- 
ca[)e(l,  made  for  the  rivir,  was  pursued,  fought,  and  was 
killed.     So  much  he  got  for  serving  you  I  " 

'•Will  you  answer  nu3  one  question':'"  said  I.  '^js 
my  v.ife  well  ?  Is  she  safe  ?  She  is  there  set  anion"-- 
villainies." 

"  Your  wife?"  he  answered,  sneering.  ''  If  you  uiean 
^hidemoiselle  Duvarney,  siie  is  not  ihere."  Then  lie 
added  solemtdy  and  slowly  :  ''  She  is  in  no  frar  of  voiir 
batteries  now — she  is  bi'youd  them.  When  she  was  ihere, 
she  was  not  child  enougii  to  tiiink  that  fo(dish  game 
with  the  vanished  chaplain  was  a  nuirriaiie.  Did  \ou 
think  to  gull  a  lady  so  beyond  the  niinuLe's  wildnuss ^ 
She  is  not  there,"  he  added  again  in  a  low  voice. 

''  She  is  dead  ?  "  I  gasped.     "  My  wife  is  dead  ?  " 

"  Enough  of  that,"  he  answei-ed  with  cold  llerceness. 
"  The  lady  saw  the  folly  of  it  all,  before  she  had  done 
with  the  world.  You — you,  monsieur!  It  was  but  the 
pity  of  her  gentle  heart,  of  a  romantic  nature.  You — 
von  blunderiui]:  alien,  snv,  and  seducer  I  " 

AVith  a  gasp  of  anger  I  struck  him  in  the  fi\c(\  and 
whipped  out  my  sword.  IJut  the  ofhcers  near  came  in- 
stantly between  us,  and  I  could  see  that  they  thouglit  me 
gross  and  ill-maniiercd,  to  do  tins  thing  before  the  (Jen- 
eral's  tent,  and  to  an  envoy. 

Doltaire  stood  still  a  moment.  Then  presently  he 
willed  a  little  Idood  from  his  mouth,  and  said  : 

"  ^lessieurs,  C^iptain  M(»ray''s  anger  was  justified  ;  and 
for  the  blow,  he  will  justify  that  in  some  happier  timi — 
for  me.  Tie  said  that  I  had  lied,  and  I  proved  him 
wrong.     I   called   him  a  spy  and   a  sedueer — he  sought 


290 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MKHITY. 


to  shame,  lie  covorcd  with  sonow,  one  of  the  nohlest 
fiimilies  of  New  I-'raiiee — jiiul  lie  liiis  yet  to  prove  nie 
wrong.  As  envoy  I  iiiiiy  not  li,i,Hit  him  now,  but  I  nuiy 
tell  you  that  I  have  every  eue  to  send  him  to  hell  one 
day.  He  will  do  me  the  credit  to  say  that  it  is  not 
cowardice  tliat  stavs  me." 

"If  no  eoward  in  the  way  of  fighting,  coward  in  all 
other  things,"  1  retorted  instantly. 

''  Well,  well,  as  you  may  think."  He  turned  to  go. 
"  We  will  meet  there,  then?"  he  said,  jiointing  to  the 
town.     "  And  when  ?  " 

"  To-morrow,"  said  I. 

He  shrugged  his  shouldei  as  to  a  boyish  petulance, 
for  he  thought  it  an  idle  boast.  ''To-morrow?  Then 
come  and  pray  with  me  in  the  cathedral,  and  after  that 
we  will  cast  np  accounts — to-morrow,"  he  said,  with  a 
poignant  and  exultant  malice.  A  nion:  nt  afterwards  he 
was  gone,  and  I  w;'  •  left  alone. 

Presently  I  saw  a  boat  shoot  out  from  the  shore  be- 
low, and  he  was  in  it.  Seeing  me,  he  waved  a  hand  in 
an  ironical  way.  I  paced  up  and  down,  sick  and  dis- 
tracted, for  half  an  hour  or  more.  I  knew  not  whether 
he  lied  concerning  Alixe,  but  my  heart  was  wrung  with 
misery,  for  indeed  he  si)okc  with  an  air  of  truth. 

Dead!  dead!  dead!  "In  no  fear  of  your  batteries 
now,"  he  had  said.  "  Done  witli  the  world!"  he  had 
said.  What  else  could  it  mean?  Yet,  the  more  I 
thonght,  there  ;jame  a  feeling  that  somehow  I  had  been 
tricked.  "  I)(>ne  with  the  world  !  "  Ay.,  a  nunnery — wjis 
that  it?  }^\\t  then,  "  In  no  fear  of  your  batteries  now  " — 
that,  what  did  that  mean  but  death  ? 

At  this  distressful  Moment  a  message  came  from  die 
General,  and  I  went  to  his  tent,  trying  to  calm  myself, 
but  overcome  with  a|iprehension,  I  was  kept  another 
half  hour  waiting,  and  then,  coming  in  to  him,  he  ques- 


I 


WITH   WOLFE  AT  MOXTMOREXOI. 


201 


10  noblest 
prove  me 
)iit  I  may 
)  hell  one 
it  is  not 


ird  in  all 


ed  to  go. 
ig  to  the 


letulauce, 
V?  Then 
after  tiiat 
l1,  with  a 
rwards  he 

shore  be- 

hand  in 

and  dis- 

b  whetlier 

'ling  with 

butteries 
"  he  had 
more  1 
had  been 
lerj — was 
3  now  " — 

from  die 
n  myself, 
:  another 
,  he  ques- 


I 


I 


tioncd  mo  closely  for  a  littli"  time  about  Doltairo  nnd 
I  told  him  tlie  wiiole  story  brielly.  rresentiy  his  secre- 
tary broiiglit  me  the  commission  for  my  appointment  to 
specual  service  on  the  (Jenerars  own  stall. 

"  Your  lirst  duty,"  said  his  I'lxcellency, "  will  be  to — re- 
connoitre ;  and  if  you  come  back  safe,  we  will  talk  fiirtlier." 

Wiiile  he  was  speaking  I  ke[)t  looking  at  tiie  list  oi 
prisoners  which  still  lay  upon  his  table.     It  ran  thus  : 

Monsieur  and  iNriulaino  Jdubort. 
JVIoiisiour  uiid  Maduino  C'ai't;aiial. 
IMadaiiU'  lloiisilloii. 
I\Iadaino  ('liain|iigiiy. 
^[oiisic'.ii"  I'ipoii. 
WadcMioiselle  La  Rose. 
L'Abbo  Duraiid. 
Monsieur  Ilalhoir. 
La  SiL'ur  An<;(''li(|Uo. 
La  Scour  Soraphino. 

I  know  not  why  it  was,  but  the  last  three  names  held  my 
eyes.  Each  of  the  other  names  I  knew,  and  their  owners 
also.  When  I  looked  close,  I  saw  that  where  "  La  Somv 
Angeliqne"  now  was  another  name  had  been  written  and 
then  erased.  I  saw  also  that  the  writing  was  recent. 
Again,  where  "ILilboir"  was  written  there  had  been  an- 
other name,  and  the  same  process  of  erasure  and  sub- 
stitution had  been  made.  It  was  not  so  witii  "  La  Sunir 
Suraphine."  I  said  to  the  General  at  once,  "  Your  Excel- 
lency, it  is  possible  you  have  been  tricked."  I  pointed 
ont  what  I  had  noted.     He  nodded. 

"  Will  you  let  me  go,  sir  ?  "  said  I.     "  Will  you  let  me 
see  this  exchange  ?  " 

"  I  fear  you  will  be  too  late,"  he  answered.    "  It  is  not 
a  vitid  matter,  I  fancy." 

"  Perliaps  to  me  most  vital,"  said  I,  and  I  explained 
my  fears. 


2"j2 


TIIH  SKATS  OF  THE   MKillTV 


il    Ivill.llv.       Jli 


•kl' 


'^  Tlirn  ^ijfn,  ijfo,"  lu'  Saul  kiiidly.  J  li' (jiiicKly  n^jivu  (li- 
ivctioiis  to  luivr  int!  carrit'd  to  Ailiiiiral  Saiimlcrs's  slii[), 
wiu'iT  till'  I'Xcliaiiu'c  was  to  'oi'  I'lli'i-ti'il,  and  at  llio  saiiio 
time  I  was  liaiu'U'ii  a  L;'fiu'i'al  passpoi't. 

Ill  a  few  iiioiiiciits  wc  WITH  hard  on  our  wav.     Now  tho 

« 

h'lttcr'u's  were  sili'iit.  I'y  tlu'  (Jnu'i'ars  oi'dri'S,  the  hoin- 
ItartliMciit  ci-a.-i'd  uliilc  tlu'  cxcliiii^^v  was  l)i'iii^-  ilTcclcd, 
and  tlu'  !''r('nrli  !»at!t'i'ics  also  stoit])rd  llflnLT.  A  suddoii 
(juii'lni'ss  si'cnh'd  to  settle  on  land  and  sra,  and  tlu'i'c  was 
(»nly  licai'd,  now  and  riuMi,  tlu-  n(»ti'  of  a  hui^iu  I'l'oni  a  sln[) 
of  war,  'I'lic  water  in  the  hasin  was  moveless,  and  the  air 
was  ealni  and  <|Miet.  This  heraldry  of  war  was  all  un- 
natural in  the  irojden  weather  and  sweet-sinellini,'  land. 

I  ui'iivd  the  rowers  to  their  ta.-k,  and  we  Hew  on.  Wo 
passed  another  hoat  loaded  with  men,  .sini,nn,u^  boisterously 
a  disorderly  soil  (.f  soiiu",  culled  '^  Hot  StulT,*'  set  to  the  ;ur 
''  Lilies  ul'  l^'ninee.""  Jt  was  out  oi'  touch  with  the  gencrul 
nuiet  : 

'•  When  the  LT.'iy  I""'()rly-S(>vciit 11  is  djishiniif  nslioro, 
W'liili'  ImiIIcN  nvr  \v!ii>t  lini,f  nnd  cjitmoii.^  (1o  I'oar. 
Sfiys  .Montc;ihii.  •Tln>v(.  ;ii'(.  Sliirlcys — 1  jxiiow  lh(>  I'lpcis.' 
'  Voii  lie,'  siiys  Neil  lldt  wood,  '  we  swipf  for  Lnscclics  1 
'1'Ii(iiil;1i  oiif  clniliitiLT  is  cliniiu'iMl.  niid  we  scout  imwdcr-puir, 
litre's  III  vou,  Vf  s\val)S — here's  i;i\t'  vou  Hot  SlulVI'" 

"While  yet  we  were  ahoiit  two  mili'S  away,  I  saw  Ji  hoat 
put  out  from  t!ie  adniii'aTs  ship,  then,  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, one  from  the  Lower  'Town,  and  they  drew  towards 
eaeli  otiier.  1  iiru'ed  my  men  t(»  their  t:isk,  and  as  we  were 
jiassiiiL:;  ,>ome  of  Admiral  Sannilers's  shi[)s,  their  sailors 
elieered  us.  Then  came  a  silence,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  all  our  army  and  llret,  and  that  at  J>e;iuport,  and  tho 
ijarrison  of  (^uehec,  were  watchin.u"  us;  for  the  ramptirtij 
and  shore  were  crowdeil.  We  drovt'  on  at  an  an,ii;le,  to 
intercept  the  l)oat  that  left  the  admirar.s  ship  before  it 
reached  the  town. 


I 


Iv  pivu  (li- 
liTs's  ship, 

tllO    StllliC 
\n\v  tllO 

,  t  ho  hoiii- 

X  ilTcctcd, 

A   sihhK'ii 

tlii'l'i'  Wild 

•om  ii  ship 
ihI  the  air 
as  all  uii- 
iLj  laud. 
V  on.  Wv 
jistc'i'ously 
to  the  air 
he  general 


WITH   WOLFK  AT  MONTMOIIMXcr. 
War  leaned  iij^on  its  arms  and  watched  a  sli 


203 
duel. 


I'U.cls.' 

h.'s! 
\v(l('f-[)u(T, 

r 


I  '  "' 


^a\v  a  boat 

same  nio- 

\y  towards 

IS  we  were 

cir  sailoi's 

led   to  me 

t,  and  the 

j'auipart;] 

au^'le,  to 

before  it 


1(1  watched  a  slrani^e  duel. 
There  waH  no  authority  in  any  one's  hands  save  niv  own 
to  stoj)  the  l)(>at,  and  the  two  armies  must  avoid  llriu-' 
for  the  peo[»le  ot  both  nations  were*  here  in  this  space  be- 
tween—ladies and  ^'entk'nien  in  the  French  boat  '>-(.iu<r  to 
the  town,  iMii^dishnien  and  a  p<jor  woniau  or  two  eoniiu" 
to  our  own  fleet. 

My  men  strained  every  mustde,  but  the  pace  was  im- 
possible—it  could  not  last ;  and  the  rowers  in  the  French 
boat  hung  over  their  oars  also  with  enthusiasm.  With  the 
glass  of  the  oMicer  near  me— Kiii^ah.n  of  Anstriithcr's 
Regiment — I  could  now  see  Doltaire  standing  erect  in 
the  boat,  urging  the  boatmen  on. 

All  round  that  basin,  on  shore  and  clilT  and  mountains, 
thousands  of  veteran  lighters — Eraser's,  Otway's,  Town- 
semrs,  Murray's;  and  on  the  other  side  the  splendid 
soldiers  of  La  Sarre,  Languedoc,  IJcarn,  and  (iiiicnne 
— wattdied  in  silence.  Well  tlicv  mi'dit,  for  in  this 
fnfr\(ctv  was  the  little  wea[)on  foi-ged  which  opened  the 
door  of  Xcw  France  to  England's  glory.  So  may  the  lit- 
tle talent  or  o])portunity  make  possible  the  genius  of  the 
great. 

The  pain  of  this  suspense  grew  so,  tliat  1  longed  for 
some  sound  to  break  the  stillness ;  but  there  was  nothing 
for  minute  after  minute.  Then,  at  last,  on  the  halevon 
air  of  the  summer  day  lloated  the  Angelus  from  tlie  catlie- 
dral  tower.  Only  a  moment,  in  which  one  could  feel,  and 
see  also,  the  French  army  praying,  then  came  from  the 
ramparts  tlic  sharp,  ins})iring  roll  of  a  drum,  and  ])res- 
ently  all  was  still  again.  Nearer  and  nearer  the  boat  of 
prisoners  approached  the  stone  steps  of  the  landing,  and 
we  were  several  hundred  yards  behind. 

I  motioned  to  ])oltaire  to  stop,  but  he  made  no  sign. 
I  saw  the  cloaked  figures  of  the  nuns  near  him,  and  I 
strained  my  eyes,  but  I  could  not  note  their  faces.     My 
20 


294 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


men  worked  on  tirdently,  and  presently  we  gained.  But 
I  saw  that  it  was  impossible  to  reach  them  before  tliey  set 
foot  on  shore.  Now  their  boat  came  to  the  steps,  and  one 
by  "one  they  hastily  got  out.  Then  I  called  to  Doltaire  to 
stop.  The  air  was  still,  and  my  voice  carried  distinctly. 
Suddenly  one  of  the  cloaked  ligures  sprang  towards  the 
steps  with  arms  outstretched,  calling  aloud,  "  Kobevt ! 
Robert !  "  After  a  moment,  "  Robert,  my  husband  !  " 
rang  out  again,  and  then  a  young  oflicer  and  the  other 
nun  took  her  by  the  arm  to  force  her  away.  At  the  sharp 
instigation  of  Doltaire,  some  companies  of  marines  filed 
in  upon  the  place  wJjcre  they  had  stood,  leveled  their  mus- 
kets on  us,  and  hid  my  beloved  wife  from  my  view.  I 
recognized  the  young  oOicer  who  had  put  a  hand  upon 
Alixe.     It  was  her  hrother  Juste. 

"  Alixe  !  Alixe  I "  I  called,  as  my  boat  still  came  on. 

"  Save  me,  Hobert !  "  came  the  anguished  reply,  a  faint 
but  searching  sound,  and  then  no  more. 

Misery  and  mystery  were  in  my  heart  all  at  once.  Dol- 
taire had  tricked  me.  "  Tliose  batteries  can  not  harm  her 
now  !  "  Yes,  yes,  thoy  could  not  while  she  was  a  prisoner 
in  our  camp.  "  Done  with  the  world  I "  Truly,  when 
wearing  the  garb  of  the  Sister  Angeliqne.  But  why 
that  garo  ?  I  swore  that  I  would  be  within  that  town 
by  the  morrow,  that  I  would  fetch  my  wife  into  safety, 
out  from  the  damnable  arts  and  devices  of  Master  Devil 
Doltaire,  as  (Jabord  had  called  him. 

The  captain  of  the  marines  warned  us  that  another 
boat's  length  would  fetch  upon  us  the  fire  of  his  men. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  turn  back,  while  from  the 
shore  I  was  reviled  by  soldiers  and  by  tae  rabble.  My 
marriage  with  Alixe  had  been  made  a  national  matter — 
of  race  and  religion.  So,  as  my  men  rowed  back  towards 
our  fleet,  I  faced  my  enemies,  and  looked  towards  them 
without  moving.     I  was  grim  enough  that  moment,  God 


THE  SACRED  COUNTERSIGN. 


295 


lined.  But 
ore  tliey  set 
?ps,  and  one 
Doltaire  to 
I  distinctly, 
towards  the 
,  "Kobert! 
husband  ! " 

I  the  other 
ut  the  sliarp 
arines  filed 
.  their  mus- 
ly  view.  I 
hand  upon 

came  on. 
^ply,  a  faint 

ODce.  Dol- 
>t  harm  her 
3  a  prisoner 
ruly,  when 
But  wliy 
that  town 
into  safety, 
aster  Uevil 

lat  another 
►f  his  men. 
1g  from  the 
nibble.     My 

II  matter — 
.ck  towards 
invds  tliem 
>ment,  God 


i 


knows  ;  I  felt  turned  to  stone.  I  did  not  stir  when— in- 
effaceable brutality— the  batteries  on  the  heights  began 
to  play  upon  us,  the  shot  falling  round  us,  and  passing 
over  our  heads,  and  muskct-liring  followed. 

"  Damned  villains  !  Faithless  brutes  !  "  cried  Kingdon 
beside  me.  I  did  not  speak  a  word,  but  stood  there  de- 
fiant, as  when  we  first  had  turned  back.  Now,  sharply, 
angrily,  from  all  our  batteries,  there  came  reply  to  the 
French ;  and  as  we  came  on,  with  only  one  man  wounded 
and  one  oar  broken,  our  whole  fleet  cheered  us.  I  steered 
straight  for  the  Terror  of  France,  and  there  Clark  and  I, 
he  swearing  violently,  laid  plans. 


xxiy. 

THE   SACRED    COUNTERSIGN^. 

That  night,  at  ..ine  o'clock,  the  Terror  of  France, 
catching  the  flow  of  the  tide,  with  one  sail  set  and  a 
gentle  wind,  left  the  fleet  and  came  slowly  up  the  river, 
under  the  batteries  of  the  town.  In  the  gloom  we  passed 
lazily  on  with  the  flow  of  the  tide,  unquestioned,  soon 
leaving  the  citadel  beliind,  and  ere  long  arrived  safely  at 
that  point  called  Anse  du  Foulon,  above  which  Sillery 
stood.  The  shore  could  not  be  seen  distinctly,  but  I 
knew  by  a  perfect  instinct  the  cleft  in  the  hillside  where 
was  the  path  loading  up  the  mountain.  I  bade  Clark 
come  up  the  river  again  two  nights  lience  to  watch  for 
my  signal,  which  was  there  agreed  upon.  If  I  did  not 
come,  then,  with  (jJeneral  Wolfe's  consent,  he  must  show 
the  General  this  path  rip  the  mountain.  He  swore  that 
all  shoukl  be  as  I  wished  ;  and  indeed  you  would  have 
thought  that  he  and  his  Terror  of  France  were  to  level 
Quebec  to  the  water's  edge. 


296 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


I  stole  softly  to  the  sliore  in  a  bout,  which  I  drew  up 
among  the  bushes,  hiding  it  as  well  as  1  could  in  the  dark, 
and  then,  feeling  for  my  pistols  and  my  knife,  I  cre])t 
ujiward,  coming  j)resently  to  the  passage  in  the  moun- 
tain. 1  toiled  on  to  the  summit  without  a  sound  of  alarm 
from  above.  Pushing  forward,  a  light  flashed  from  the 
windmill,  and  a  man,  and  then  two  men,  appeared  in  the 
open  door.  One  of  them  was  Captain  Lancy,  whom  I  had 
very  good  reason  to  remember.  The  last  time  I  saw  him 
was  that  f'lmous  morning  when  lie  would  have  had  me 
shot  five  minutes  before  the  appointed  hour,  rather  than 
endure  the  cold  and  be  kept  from  his  breakfast.  I  itched 
to  call  him  to  account  then  and  there,  but  that  would 
liave  been  foolish  i)lay.  I  was  outside  the  belt  of  light 
falling  from  the  door,  and  stealing  round  I  came  near  to 
the  windmill  on  the  town  side.  I  was  not  surprised  to 
see  such  poor  watch  kept.  Above  the  town,  up  to  this 
time,  the  guard  was  of  a  perfunctory  sort,  for  the  great 
cliffs  wero  thought  impregnable ;  and  even  if  surmount- 
ed, there  was  still  the  walled  town  to  take,  surrounded  by 
the  St.  Lawrence,  the  St.  Charles,  and  these  massive  bul- 
warks. 

Presently  I.ancy  stepped  out  into  the  light,  and  said, 
with  a  hoarse  laugh,  "  Blood  of  Peter,  it  was  a  sight  to- 
day !  She  has  a  constant  fancy  for  the  English  fdibuster. 
'  Robert !  my  husband  ! '  she  bleated  like  a  pretty  lamb, 
and  Doltaire  grinned  at  her." 

"  ]5ut  Doltaire  will  have  her  vet." 

"  He  has  her  pinched  like  a  mouse  in  a  weasel's  teeth." 

"  My  faith,  mademoiselle  has  no  sweet  road  to  travel 
since  her  mother  died,"  was  the  careless  re])ly. 

I  almost  cried  out.  Here  was  a  blow  which  staggered 
me.     Her  mother  dead  ! 

Presently  the  scoffer  continued  :  "  The  Duvarneys 
would  remain  in  the  city,  and  on  that  very  night,  as  they 


I 


L  I  drew  up 
ti  the  dark, 
fe,  I  cre])t 
the  moiin- 
id  of  ahii-m 
1  from  the 
ared  in  the 
horn  I  had 
i  I  saw  him 
ve  liad  me 
ather  than 
i.  I  itched 
that  would 
i\t  of  light 
,me  near  to 
Lir prised  to 
up  to  this 
r  the  great 
surmonnt- 
L'ounded  by 
lassive  bul- 


:,  and  said, 
a  sight  to- 
1  filibuster, 
■etty  lamb, 


sel's  teeth." 
,d  to  travel 


I 


I  staggered 


Duvarneys 
ht,  as  they 


The  Old  Oafi's  of  Quebec. 


THE  SACRED  COUXTERSTGN. 


29' 


n 


KM 


sit  at  dinner,  a   shell   disturbs  them,  a  splinter  strikes 
madame,  and  two  days  later  she  is  carried  to  1 


They  linked  arms  and  walked  on. 
It  was  a  dancrer 


id 


ler  «zrave 


fori 


^^^.oiis  business  i  was  set  on,  tor  i  was 
sure  that  I  would  be  hung  without  shrift  if  captured. 
As  I  discovered  afterwards,  I  had  been  prochiinied,  and  it 
was  enjoined  on  all  Frenchmen  and  true  Catholics  to  kill 
me  ii  the  chance  showed. 

Only  two  things  could  I  depend  on  :  Voban,  and  my 
disguise,  which  was  very  good.  From  the  Terror  of 
France  I  had  got  a  peasant's  dress,  and  by  rubbing  my 
hands  and  face  with  the  stain  of  butternut,  cuttins:  airnin 
my  new-grown  beard,  and  wearing  a  wig,  I  was  well 
guarded  against  discovery. 

How  to  get  into  the  city  was  the  question.  I^y  the 
St.  Charles  Kiver  and  the  Palace  Gate,  and  by  the  St.  Louis 
Gate,  not  far  from  the  citadel,  were  the  oidv  wavs,  and  both 
were  difficult.  I  had,  however,  two  or  three  plans,  and 
these  I  chewed  as  I  travelled  across  Maitre  Abraliam's 
fields,  and  came  to  the  main  road  from  Sillery  to  the  town. 

Soon  I  heard  the  noise  of  clattering  hoofs,  and  jointly 
with  this  I  saw  a  figure  rise  up  not  far  ahead  of  mo,  as  if 
waiting  for  the  coming  horseman.  I  drew  back.  The 
horseman  passed  me,  and,  as  he  came  on  slowly,  I  saw  tlie 
figure  spring  suddenly  from  the  roadside  and  make  a 
stroke  at  the  horseman.  In  a  moment  they  were  a  rolh'ns: 
mass  upon  the  ground,  while  the  horse  trotted  down  the 
road  a  little  and  stood  still.  I  never  knew  the  cause  of 
that  encounter — robljery,  or  })rivate  hate,  or  paid  assault ; 
but  there  was  scarcely  a  sound  as  the  two  men  stru2:^"led. 
Presently  there  was  ffroanins:,  aiul  both  lav  still,  I  hur- 
ried  to  them,  and  found  one  dead,  and  the  other  dying, 
and  dacfirer  wounds  in  both ;  for  the  assault  had  been  at 
such  close  quarters  that  the  horseman  had  had  no  chance 
to  use  a  pistol. 


298 


THE  SEATS  OP  THE  MIGHTY. 


My  plans  were  changed  on  tlie  instant.  I  drew  tlio 
military  coat,  boots,  and  cap  oilf  the  horseman,  and  j)ut 
them  on  myself ;  and  tlirusting  my  hand  into  his  waist- 
coat— for  he  looked  like  a  courier — I  found  a  packet. 
This  I  put  into  my  pocket,  and  tlien,  making  for  the 
horse  which  stood  quiet  in  the  road,  1  mounted  it  and 
rode  on  towards  the  town.  Striking  a  light,  I  found  that 
the  packet  was  addressed  to  the  Governor.  A  serious 
thought  disturbed  me :  I  could  not  get  into  tlie  town 
through  the  gates  without  the  countersign.  I  rode  on, 
anxious  and  perplexed. 

Presently  a  thought  pulled  me  np.  The  courier  was 
insensible  when  I  left  him,  and  he  was  the  only  person 
who  could  help  me  in  this.  I  reproached  myself  for  leav- 
ing him  while  he  was  still  alive.  "  Poor  devil,"  thouglit 
I  to  myself,  "  there  is  some  one  whom  his  death  will  hurt. 
He  must  not  die  alone.  lie  was  no  enemy  of  mine."  I 
went  back,  and,  getting  from  the  horse,  stooped  to  him, 
lifted  np  his  head,  and  found  that  he  was  not  dead.  I 
sjooke  in  his  ear.     lie  moaned,  and  his  eyes  opened. 

"  What  is  your  nnme?  "  said  I. 

"  Jean — Labrouk,"  he  wdiispered. 

Now  I  remenibered  him.  lie  was  the  soldier  whom 
Gabord  had  sent  as  messenger  to  Voban  the  night  1  was 
first  taken  to  the  citadel. 

"  Shall  1  carry  word  for  yon  to  any  one  ?  "  asked  1. 

There  was  a  slight  pause ;  then  he  said,  "  Tell  my — 
Babette — Jacques  Dobrotte  owes  me  ten  francs — and — a 
le^i: — of  mutton.  Tell — mv  Babette — to  irive  mv  coat  of 
beaver  fur  to  G.ubord  the  soldier.  Tell  "...  he  sank 
back,  but  raised  liimself,  and  continued  :  "  Tell  my  lia- 
bette  1  weep  with  her.  .  .  .  Ah,  mon  gvdiid  Iwmme  de 
Calvaire — hon  soir!^^  lie  sank  back  again,  but  I  roused 
him  with  one  question  more,  vital  to  me.  I  must  have 
the  countersign. 


THE  SACKED  COUNTERSIGN. 


299 


1  drew  tho 

n,  and  put 

liis  waist- 

a  packet. 

iig  for  the 

ted  it  and 

found  that 

A   serious 

tlie   town 

I  rode  on, 

ourier  was 
>nly  person 
If  for  leav- 
,"  thought 
will  hurt, 
mine."  I 
ed  to  him, 
t  dead.  I 
ned. 


!ier  whom 
ght  I  was 


=ked  I. 
LY'll  ni}' — 
s — and — a 
Qv  coat  of 
.  he  sank 
\\  my  lia- 
liomme  de 
t  I  roused 
nust  have 


li 


I 


"Labrouk  !  LabroukI"  said  I  shar2)ly. 

lie  opened  liis  dull,  glazed  eyes. 

"  Qui  va  la  ?  "  said  1,  and  I  waited  anxiously. 

Thought  seemed  to  rally  in  him,  and,  staring— alas ! 
how  helpless  and  how  sad  :  that  look  of  a  man  brought 
back  for  an  instant  from  the  Shadows  !— his  lips  moved. 

"France,"  was  the  whispered  reply. 

"Advance  and  give  the  countersign!"  I  urged. 

"  Jesu "  he  murmured  faintly.     I  drew  from  my 

breast  the  cross  that  Mathilde  had  given  me,  and  pressed 
it  to  his  lips.  He  sighed  softly,  lifted  his  hand  to  it,  and 
then  fell  back,  never  to  speak  again. 

After  covering  his  face  and  decently  laying  the  body 
out,  I  mounted  the  horse  again.  Ci lancing  up,  I  saw  that 
this  bad  business  had  befallen  not  twenty  feet  from  a 
high  Calvary  at  the  roadside. 

I  was  in  a  painful  quandary.  Did  Labrouk  mean  that 
the  countersign  was  "Jt'cV?^,"  or  was  that  word  the  broken 
prayer  of  his  soul  as  it  hurried  foi'tli?  So  strange  a  coun- 
tersign I  had  never  heard,  and  yet  it  might  be  used  in 
this  Catholic  country.  This  day  might  be  some  great 
feast  of  the  Church — possibly  that  of  the  naming  of 
Christ  (which  was  the  case,  as  I  afterwards  knew).  I  rode 
on,  tossed  about  in  my  mind.  So  much  hung  on  this. 
If  I  could  not  give  the  countersign,  I  should  have  to  fight 
my  way  back  again  the  road  I  came.  But  I  nmst  try  my 
luck.  So  I  went  on,  beating  up  my  heart  to  confidence ; 
and  now  I  came  to  the  St.  Louis  (J ate.  A  tiny  fire  was 
burning  near^  and  two  sentinels  stepped  forward  as  I  rode 
boldly  on  the  entrance. 

"  Qui  va  la  ?  "  was  the  sharp  call. 

"France,"  was  my  reply,  in  a  voice  as  like  a  peasant's 
as  possible. 

"  Advance  and  give  the  countersign,"  came  the  de- 
mand. 


300 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


Anotlicr  voice  called  from  the  darkness  of  the  wall: 
"  Come  and  driuk,  comrade  ;  Tve  a  brother  with  Bougain- 
ville." 

'SA',s'?^"  said  I  to  the  sentinel,  answering  his  demand 
for  the  countersign,  aiul  1  spurred  on  my  horse  idly, 
though  my  heart  was  thumping  hard,  for  there  were 
several  sturdy  fellows  lying  beyond  the  dull  handful  of 
fire. 

Instantly  the  sentineFs  hand  came  to  my  bridle-rein. 
"7/^////"  roared  he. 

Surely  some  good  spirit  was  with  me  then  to  prompt 
me,  for,  witli  a  careless  laugh,  as  though  1  had  not  be- 
fore finislied  the  countersign,  "C7/r/*cs7,"  I  added — ^''Jha 
Christ!'' 

AVith  an  oatli  the  soldier  let  go  the  bridle-rein,  the 
other  opened  the  gates,  and  I  passed  through.  I  heard 
the  first  fellow  swearing  roundly  to  the  others  that  he 
would  "  send  yon  courier  to  fires  of  hell  if  he  played  with 
him  again  so."  ••^ 

The  gates  closed  behind  me,  and  I  was  in  the  town 
which  had  seen  the  worst  days  and  best  moments  of  my 
life.  I  rode  along  at  a  trot,  and  once  again  beyond  the 
citadel  was  summoned  by  a  sentinel.  Safely  passed  on,  I 
came  down  towards  the  Chateau  St.  Louis.  T  rode  ooldly 
np  to  the  great  entrance  door,  and  handed  tlie  packet  to 
the  sentinel. 

"  From  whom  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Look  in  the  corner,"  said  L  "And  what  business 
is't  of  yours  ?  " 

"There  is  no  word  in  the  corner,"  answered  he  dog- 
gedly.    "  Is't  from  :\Ionsieur  le  Generale  at  Caj)  Rouge?  " 

"  Bah  !  Did  you  think  it  was  from  an  English  wolf  ?  " 
I  asked. 

His  dull  face  broke  a  little.  "Is  Jean  Labrouk  with 
Bougainville  yet  V  " 


I 


the  Willi : 
I  liougui Il- 
ls demand 
lorse  idlv, 
liere  were 
iiiidful  of 

ridle-rein. 

to  jironipt 
d  not  be- 
h1 — "J(\s//- 

)-reiii,  the 

I  heurd 

s  that  lie 

ayed  with 

the  town 
nts  of  my 
?yond  the 
ssed  on,  I 
idc  ooldly 
Dacket  to 


business 
1  he  doof- 
h  wolf  ?  " 
■ouk  with 


THK  SACRED  COrXTKRSIGN. 


301 


in- 


I 


"lie's    done   with    Bougainville;  he\s    dead,"   I   j 
swered. 

''  Dead  !  dead  !  "  said  he,  a  sort  of  grin  i.laviiig  on  liis 
faee. 

I  made  a  shot  at  a  venture.  "  But  you're  to  pay  his 
wife  IJabette  the  ten  franes  and  the  leg  of  mutro'ii  in 
twenty-four  hours,  or  his  ghost  will  follow  you.  Swallov 
that,  pu(hling-hea(l !  And  see  you  pay  it,  or  every  man  i. 
our  eompany  swears  to  break  a  score  of  shingles  on  your 
bare  back." 

"  i'il  P'\V,  I'll  pJiy,"  he  said,  and  he  began  to  tremble. 

"Where  shall  1  find  Jiabette?"  asked  I.  "I  come 
from  the  Isle  aux  Coudres ;  I  know  not  this  rambling 
town." 

"A  little  house  hugging  the  cathedral  rear,"  he  an- 
swered. "Ikibette  sweeps  out  the  vestry,  and  fetches 
water  for  the  priests." 

"  Good,"  said  I.  "  'Pake  that  to  the  Governor  at  once, 
and  send  the  corporal  of  the  guard  to  have  this  horse  fed 
and  car<3d  for,  as  he's  to  carry  back  the  (Jovei-nor's  mes- 
senger. I've  further  business  for  the  General  in  the  town. 
And  tell  your  captain  of  the  guard  to  send  and  ])ick  up 
two  dead  men  in  the  highway,  just  against  the  first  Cal- 
vary l)eyond  the  town." 

He  did  my  bidding,  and  T  dismoujited,  and  was  about 
to  get  away,  when  I  saw  the  (^hevalirr  de  la  Darante  and 
the  Intendant  appeal-  at  the  door.  Thoy  paused  u[)on  the 
steps.     The  Chevalier  was  speaking  most  earnestly  : 

"  To  a.  nunnery — a  piteous  shame  !  it  should  not  be, 
your  Excellency." 

"  To  decline  upon  Monsieur  Dultaire,  then?"  asked 
Bigot,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Your  Excellency  believes  in  no  woman,"  responded 
the  Chevalier  stiffly. 

"  Ah  yes,  in  one  !  "  was  the  cynical  reply. 


302 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


"  Is  it  possible  ?  And  she  remains  a  friend  of  your 
Excellency  !  "  came  buck  in  irony. 

"  The  verv  best ;  she  tinds  me  nnendnrable." 

"  Philosoi)hy  shirks  the  solving'  of  tluit  problem,  your 
Kxcellency,"  was  the  cold  re[)ly. 

"  No,  it  is  easy.  The  woman  to  be  trusted  is  she  wlio 
never  trusts." 

*'  The  para,i,^on — or  i)rodigy — who  is  slie  ?  " 

"  Even  Madame  .lamond." 

"  She  danced  for  you  once,  your  Excellency,  they  tell 


me 


»5 


rp 


"  She  was  a  devil  that  night ;  she  drove  us  mad." 

80  Doltaire  had  not  given  up  the  secret  of  that  affair  ! 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  tlie  Chevjdier 

said,  "  Her  father  will  not  let  her  go  to  a  nunnery — no, 

no.     Whv  should  he  vield  to  the  Church  in  this  ?  " 

Biixot   shruc-^red  a  shoulder.     "  Not   even    to   hide — 

shame  ?  " 

"  X.iar — ruflian  1 "    said    I    through    my   teeth.      The 

Chevalier  answered  for  me  : 

"  T  would  stake  my  life  on  her  truth  and  purity." 
"  You  forget  the  mock  marriage,  dear  Chevalier." 
"  It  w\is  after  the  manner  of  his  creed  and  people." 
"  It  was  after  a  manner  we  all  have  nsed  at  times." 
"  Speak  for  yourself,  your  Excellency,"  was  the  austere 

reply.     Nevertheless,  I  could  see  that  the  Chevalier  was 

much  troubled. 

"  She  forgot  race,  religion,  people— all,  to  spend  still 

hours  with  a  foreign  fpy  in  prison,"  urged  Bigot,  with 

damnable  point  and  suggestion. 

"  Hush,  sir  !  "  said  the  Chevalier.     "  She  is  a  girl  once 

much  beloved  and   ever   admired    among  us.      Let  not 

your  rancour  against  the  man   be  spent  upon  the  maid. 

Nav,  more,  why  should  vou  hate  the  man  so  ?     It  is  said, 

*/   /  '  ft'  • 

your  Excellency,  that  this  ^Moray  did  not  fire  the  shot 


THE  SACUHD  COUNTERSIGN. 


;ju3 


[  of  your 

lem,  your 
i  slie  who 


,  they  tell 

uul" 

Kit  afTjiir ! 
Chevrlier 
nery — no, 

V" 

to   hide — 

th.      The 

rity." 
alier." 
leople." 
imes." 
lie  austere 
vulier  was 

pend  still 
igot,  with 

I  girl  once 
Let  not 

the  maid. 

It  is  said, 
5  the  shot 


! 


that  wounded  you,  but  one  wlio  has  less  reason  to  love 


you 


n 


liigot  smiled  wiokedlv,  but  said  notliin-^ 

Tiie  Clievalier  laid  a  hand  on  IJigofs  arm.  "  Will 
you  not  oppose  the  Governor  and  the  bishops  Ik-r  fate 
is  sad  enough." 

"  I  will  not  lift  a  finger.  There  are  weightier  mat- 
ters. Let  Doltaire,  the  idler,  the  Don  Aiiiato,  the  hunter 
of  that  fawn,  save  her  from  the  holy  ambush.  Tut,  tut, 
Chevalier.  Let  her  go.  Y'our  ne])liew  is  to  marry  Ikt 
sister;  let  her  be  swallowed  up — a  shame  behind  llio 
veil,  the  sweet  litany  of  the  cloister." 

The  Chevalier's  voice  set  hard  as  he  said  in  quick 
reply,  "  My  family  honour,  Franc/ois  P>igot,  needs  no 
screen.  And  if  you  doul)t  that,  I  will  give  you  argument 
at  your  pleasure."  So  saying,  he  turned  and  went  back 
into  the  chateau. 

Thus  the  honest  Chevalier  ke})t  his  word,  given  to  me 
when  I  released  him  from  servinix  me  on  the  St.  Law- 
rence. 

Bigot  came  down  the  steps,  smiling  detestably,  and 
passed  me  with  no  more  than  a  quick  look.  I  made  my 
way  cautiously  through  the  streets  towards  the  cathedral, 
for  I  owed  a  duty  to  the  poor  soldier  who  had  died  in  my 
arms,  through  whose  death  I  had  been  able  to  enter  the 
town. 

Disarray  and  ruin  met  my  sight  at  every  haiul.  Shot 
and  shell  had  made  wicked  havoc.  Houses  where,  as  a 
hostage,  I  had  dined,  were  battered  and  broken  ;  public 
buildings  were  shapeless  masses,  and  dogs  and  thieves 
prowled  among  the  ruins.  Drunken  soldiers  staggered 
past  me  ;  hags  begged  for  sons  or  bread  at  corners;  nnd 
devoted  priests  r.nd  long-robed  Eecollet  monks,  cowled 
and  alert,  hurried  past,  silent,  and  worn  with  labours, 
watchings,  and  prayers,      A  number  of  officers  in  white 


'MU 


'VUK  SKATS   OF   TIIK   MKIIITV. 


lf( 


ilo  b}- 


towunU  thu  cluit( 


iiiul 


Lornis  rodu  uy,  ;^^()iiij;  lowuius  iiiu  ciuiieuu,  uiui  a  c 

pany  of  rniirrurs  </r  hois  ciinio  \\\>  from   Mountain  Street, 

singin.i^  : 

•'  (jin>Hy  i/irdH  .'  b  ntntin  [/rami — 

Commtnci'2-vouti,  rommviu-i  :-rous  /" 

Here  and  there  were  fires  lighted  in  the  streets,  though 
it  was  not  cold,  and  beside  tlieni  peasants  and  soldiers 
drank,  and  (piarrelled  over  food — for  starvation  was  abroad 
in  the  land. 

Hy  one  of  tliose  tires,  in  a  seehided  street — for  1  had 
come  a  roundabout  w;iv — were  a  nutriber  of  soldiers  of 
Languedoe's  reuiinent  (I  knew  them  by  their  trick  of 
headgear  and  their  stoutness),  and  with  tiiem  reckless 
gii'ls,  will),  in  their  abandonment,  seemed  to  me  like  those 
revellers  in  Jlerculancum  who  danced  their  wav  into  the 
Cimmerian  darkness.  I  had  no  thought  of  staying  there 
to  moralize  upon  the  theme  ;  but,  as  I  looked,  a  figure 
camo  out  of  the  dusk  ahead  and  moved  swiftly  to- 
wards mc. 

It  was  ]\rathilde.  Slie  seemed  bent  on  some  errand, 
but  the  revellers  at  the  fire  caught  her  attention,  and  she 
suddenly  swerved  towards  them  and  came  into  the  dull 
glow,  her  great  black  eyes  shining  with  bewildered  bril- 
liancy and  vague  keenness,  heir  long  fingers  reaching  out 
witli  a  sort  of  challng  motion.  She  did  not  speak  till  she 
was  among  them.  I  drew  into  the  shade  of  a  broken  wall, 
and  watched.  She  looked  all  round  the  circle,  and  then, 
without  a  word,  took  an  iron  crucifix  wdiicli  liung  upon 
her  breast  and  silently  lifted  it  above  their  heads  for  a 
moment.  I  myself  felt  a  kind  of  thrill  go  through  me, 
for  her  wild  beauty  was  almost  tragical.  IFer  madness 
was  not  grotesque,  but  solemn  and  dramatic.  There  was 
something  terribly  deliberate  in  her  strangeness  ;  it  was 
full  of  awe  to  the  beholder,  more  searching  and  pitiful 
than  melancholy. 


i 


TIIK  SACKED  COL'XTKH.SKlX, 


50J 


.iUJ 


1(1  a  com- 
iii  Street, 


s,  tllOUfJ^ll 

i  sold  it' rs 
'US  abroad 

'or  1  had 
oldiors  of 
trick  of 
1  reckless 
like  those 
*•  into  the 
•iii<^  there 
,  a  ligiire 
iviftly  to- 

le  errand, 
I,  and  she 

the  dull 
:'red  bril- 

hinf^  out 
ik  till  she 
)ken  wall, 
and  then, 
1110^  npon 
ads  for  a 
onf^h  nie, 

madness 
'here  was 
s ;  it  was 
id  pitiful 


Coarse  hands  fell  away  from  wanton  waists  ;  rihallry 
hesitated;  hot  faces  drew  apart;  aiul  all  at  oiice  a  ;,Mr! 
with  a  eracklinn:  lau<rh  threw  a  tin  eup  of  liquor  iuloMie 
tiro.  Kven  us  she  did  il,  a  wretche.l  dwarf  s^jrani;  into 
the  circlo  without  a  word,  and,  siiatcliiii«r  t|ie  cup  out  of 
the  llanies,  juinix-d  hack  again  iuto  tlu^  darkiu'ss,  peer- 
ing iuto  it  with  a  hollow  laugh.  A  soldier  raised  ji  heavy 
stick  to  throw  at  him;  but  the  girl  caught  him  hv  the 
arms,  and  said,  with  a  hoarse  pathos,  "My  CJod,  no,  Al- 
phonso  !     It  is  my  Ijrother  !" 

Here  .Mathilde,  still  holding  out  the  cross,  said  in  a 
loud  whisper,  "  \Sh,  'sh  !  My  children,  go  not  to  the 
palace,  for  there  is  Fran(;ois  liigot,  and  he  has  a  devil, 
l^ut  if  you  have  no  cottage,  I  will  give  you  a  home.  I 
know  the  way  to  it  up  in  th<  hills.  \\h,v  children, 
see,  I  will  nnike  you  hapi)y." 

She  took  a  dozen  little  wooden  (,'rosses  from  her 
girdle,  and,  st"^)ping  round  the  circle,  gave  each  ju-rson 
one.  No  soldier  refused,  save  a  young  militiaman  ;  and 
when,  with  a  sneei'ing  laugh,  he  threw  his  into  the  lli'c, 
she  stooped  over  him  and  said,  ''  Poor  boy  I  poor  boy  I  " 

She  put  her  fingers  on  her  lips  and  whispered,  ''  Hi  nil 
iminacuhtti — miserere  viri,  /V^v^v,"  stray  jdirases  gathered 
from  the  liturgy,  pregnant  to  her  brain,  order  and  truth 
flashing  out  of  wandering  and  fantasy.  Xo  one  of  tlie 
girls  refused,  but  sat  there,  some  laughing  nervously, 
some  silent ;  for  this  mad  maiil  had  come  to  be  sur- 
rounded with  a  su])erstitious  reverence  in  the  eyes  of  the 
common  people.  It  was  said  she  had  a  home  in  the  hills 
somewhere,  to  whicdi  she  disappeared  for  days  and  weeks, 
and  came  back  hung  about  the  girdle  with  crosses;  and 
it  was  also  said  that  her  red  robe  never  became  frayed, 
shabby,  or  tlisordered. 

Suddenly  she  turned  and  left  them.  I  let  her  pass 
unchecked,  and  went  on  towards  the  cathedral,  humming 


306 


THE  SEATS  OF  TIIF   MltHlTV 


an  old  Frcneli  chanson.  I  did  this  because  now  and  then 
I  met  soldiers  and  patrols,  and  my  free  and  careless  man- 
ner disarmed  notice.  Oni.e  or  twice  drunken  soldiers 
stopped  me  and  tUrew  tlieir  arms  about  me,  saluting 
me  on  the  cheeivs  t)  hi  mode,  asking  themselves  to 
drink  with  me.  Getting  free  of  them,  I  came  on  my  way, 
and  uas  glad  to  reach  tlie  cathedral  unchallenged.  Here 
and  there  a  broken  buttress  or  a  splintered  wall  told 
where  our  guns  liad  played  upon  it,  but  inside  I  could 
hear  an  organ  playing  and  a  Miserere  being  chanted.  I 
wenc  round  to  its  rear,  and  there  I  saw  the  little  house 
described  by  the  sentinel  at  the  chateau.  Coming  to  the 
door,  I  knocked,  and  it  was  opened  at  once  by  a  warm- 
faced  woman  of  tlurty  or  so,  who  instanfly  brightened  on 
seeing  me.  "  Ah,  you  come  from  Cap  Rouge,  m'sieu','' 
she  said,  looking  at  my  clothes — her  own  husoand's, 
though  she  knew  it  not. 

"  I  come  from  Jean,"  said  I,  and  stepped  inside. 

She  shut  the  door,  and  then  I  saw  sitting  in  a  corner, 
by  a  lighted  .able,  an  old  man,  bowed  and  shrunken, 
wJiito  hair  and  white  beard  falling  all  about  him,  and 
nothing  of  his  features  to  be  seen  save  high  cheek-bones 
and  two  hawklike  eyes  which  peered  up  at  me. 

"80,  so,  from  Jean,"  he  said  in  a  high,  piping  voice. 
"Jean's  a  pretty  boy— ay,  ay,  Jean's  like  his  father,  but 
neither  with  a  foot  like  mine— a  foot  for  the  court, 
said  Frontenac  to  me— yes,  yes,  I  knew  the  great  Fron- 
tenac " 

The  wife  interrupted  his  gossip.  "  What  news  from 
Jean?"  said  she.  "lie  hoped  to  come  one  day  this 
week." 

"  He  says,"  responded  I  gently,  "  that  Jacques  Do- 
brotte  owes  you  ten  francs  and  a  leg  of  mu Ltuu,  and  that 
you  are  to  give  his  great  beaver  coat  to  Gabord  the  sol- 
dier." 


r  and  then 
3lcss  mau- 
11  soldiers 
,  saluting 
1  selves  to 
a  my  way, 
cd.  Here 
wall  told 
le  I  could 
lanted.  I 
ttle  house 
ing  to  the 
^  a  warm- 
htened  on 
,  m'sieu'," 
lusoand's, 

dde. 

a  corner, 
shrunken, 
him,  and 
eek- bones 


mg  voice, 
ather,  but 
ho  court, 
cat  Fron- 

ews  from 
day  this 


THE  SACRED  COUNTERSIGN. 


307 


•ques 

Do- 

,  and 

that 

•d  the  sol-            I 

"Ay,  ay,  Gabord  the  soldier,  he  that  the  English  spy 
near  sent  to  heaven,"  quavered  the  old  man. 

The  bitter  truth  was  slowly  dawiung  upon  the  wife. 
She  was  repeating  my  words  in  a  whisper,  as  if  to  grasp 
their  full  meaning. 

«  He  said  also,"  I  continued,  "  '  Tell  Babetto  I  weep 
with  her.' " 

She  was  very  still  and  dazed  ;  her  fingers  went  to  her 
white  lips,  and  stayed  there  for  a  moment.  I  never  saw 
such  a  numb  misery  in  any  face. 

"xVnd,  last  of  all,  he  said,  'Ah,  mo)i  grand  honimc  tie 
Calvaire — ho)i  soir  I '  " 

She  turned  round  and  went  and  sat  down  beside  the 
old  man,  looked  into  his  face  for  a  minute  silently,  and 
then  said,  "Grandfather,  Jean  is  dead;  our  Jean  is 
dead  ! " 

The  old  man  peered  at  her  for  a  moment,  then  broke 
into  a  strange  laugh,  which  had  in  it  the  reflection  of  a 
distant  misery,  and  said,  "  Our  little  Jean,  our  little  Jean 
Labrouk  !  Ila  !  ha !  There  was  Alllon,  Marmon,  (ia- 
briel,  and  Gouloir,  and  all  their  sons ;  and  they  all  said 
the  same  at  the  last,  '  Mo)i  gvdtid  '//(diuiic — de  CaJcairc — 
ion  soir!'  Then  there  was  little  Jean,  the  pretty  little 
Jean.  He  could  not  row  a  boat,  l)ut  jv-  could  ride  a 
horse,  and  he  had  an  eye  like  me.  Ha !  ha  !  I  have  seen 
them  all  say  good-night.  Good-morning,  my  chil'h-en, 
I  will  say  one  day,  and  I  will  give  them  all  the  news,  and 
I  well  tell  them  all  I  have  done  these  hundred  vears.  Ila, 
ha,  ha  ! " 

The  wife  put  her  fingers  on  liis  lips,  and,  turning  lo 
me,  said  with  a  peculiar  sorrow,  "  ^Vill  they  fetch  him  to 
me  ?  " 

I  assured  her  that  they  would. 

The  old  man  fixed  his  eyes  on  me  most  strangely,  and 
then,  stretching  out  his  finger  and  leaning   forward,  he 


8 


308 


THE  SEATS  OP  THE  MIGHTY. 


said,  with  a  voice  of  senile  wildness,  "  All,  ah,  the  coat  of 
our  little  Jean  !  " 

I  stood  there  like  any  criininjil  caught  in  his  shame- 
ful act.  Though  I  had  not  forgotten  that  I  wore  the  dead 
man's  clothes,  I  couJd  not  tliink  that  tliey  would  be  rec- 
ognized, for  they  seemed  like  others  of  the  French  army 
— white,  with  violet  facings.  I  can  not  tell  to  this  day 
what  it  was  that  enabled  them  to  detect  the  c.^at;  but 
there  I  stood  condemned  before  them. 

The  wife  sprang  to  her  feet,  came  to  me  with  a  set 
face,  and  stared  stonily  at  the  coat  for  an  instant.  Then, 
with  a  cry  of  alarm,  slie  made  for  the  door;  but  I  stepped 
quickly  before  her,  and  bade  her  wait  till  she  heard  what 
I  had  to  say.  Like  lightning  it  all  went  through  my 
brain.  I  was  ruined  if  she  gave  an  alarm  :  all  Quebec 
would  be  at  my  heels,  and  my  puri)oses  would  be  defeated. 
There  was  but  one  thing  to  do — tell  her  the  whole  truth, 
and  trust  her  ;  for  I  had  at  least  done  fairly  by  her  and 
by  the  dead  man. 

80  I  told  them  how  Jean  Labrouk  had  met  his  death ; 
told  them  who  I  was  and  why  I  was  in  Quebec — how  Jean 
died  in  my  arms ;  and,  taking  from  my  breast  the  cross 
that  ^lathilde  had  given  me,  1  swore  by  it  that  every  word 
which  1  said  was  true.  The  wife  scarcely  stirred  while  I 
spoke,  but  with  wide  dry  eyes,  and  hands  clasping  and 
unclaspi!ig,  heard  me  through.  I  told  her  how  I  might 
have  left  Jean  to  die  without  a  sign  or  message  to  them, 
how  1  had  put  the  cross  to  his  lips  as  he  went  forth,  and 
how  by  coming  here  at  all  I  placed  my  safety  in  her  hands, 
r.nd  now,  by  telling  my  story,  my  life  itself. 

It  was  ;i  dju'ing  and  a  difficult  task.  When  I  had  iin- 
ished,  botli  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  old  man 
said,  "Ay,  ay,  Jeau's  father  and  his  uncle  .Mariron  were 
killed  a-horseback,  and  by  the  knife.  Ay,  ay,  it  is  our 
way.     Jean  was  good  company — none  better,  mt;,ss  over 


THE  SACRED  COUNTERSIGN. 


309 


lie  coat  of 

lis  sliame- 

0  the  dead 
lid  be  rcc- 
'iicli  army 
'  this  day 
Dv-^at;   but 

vith  a  set 
t.     Tlien, 

I  stepped 
card  what 
'oiigh   my 

II  Quebec 
defeated. 

ole  truth, 
y  her  and 

lis  death ; 
■how  Jeau 
the  cross 
very  word 
3d  while  I 
;j)iiig  and 
,v  I  might 
3  to  them, 
forth,  and 
ler  bauds, 

1  had  lin- 
D  old  man 
iron  were 

it  is  our 
mi;,ss  over 


on  a  Sunday.  Come,  we  will  light  candles  for  Jean, 
and  comb  his  hair  back  sweet,  and  masses  shall  be  said, 
and " 

Again  the  woman  interrupted,  quieting  him.  Tlien 
she  turned  to  me,  and  I  awaited  lier  words  with  a  desper- 
ate sort  of  coura2:e. 

"  I  believe  yo'^,"  she  said.  "  I  remember  you  now. 
My  sister  was  the  wife  of  your  keeper  at  the  common  jail. 
You  shall  be  safe.  Alas  !  my  Jean  miglit  have  died  with- 
out a  word  to  me — all  alone  in  the  niglit.  Jferci  f/iiiie 
fois,  monsicK)'  !^^  Then  she  rocked  a  little  to  and  fro, 
and  the  old  man  looked  at  her  like  a  curious  child.  At 
last,  "  I  must  go  to  him,"  she  said.  "  My  })oor  Jean  must 
be  brouGi'ht  home." 

I  told  her  I  had  already  left  word  concerning  the  body 
at  headquarters.  She  tlianked  me  again.  Overcome  as 
she  was,  she  went  and  brought  me  a  peasant's  hat  and 
coat.  Such  trust  and  kindness  touched  me.  Tremblino-, 
she  took  from  me  the  coat  and  hat  I  had  worn,  and  she 
put  her  hands  before  her  eyes  when  she  saw  a  little  spot 
of  blood  upon  the  llap  of  a  pocket.  The  old  man  reached 
out  his  hands,  and,  taking  them,  he  held  them  on  his 
knees,  whispering  to  himself. 

"  You  will  be  safe  here,"  the  wife  said  to  me.  "  The 
loft  above  is  small,  but  it  will  hide  you,  if  you  have  no 
better  place." 

I  was  thankful  that  I  had  told  her  all  the  truth.     I 

should  be  snug  here,  awaiting  the  alTair  in  the  cathedral 

on  the  morrow.     There  was  Voban,  but  1  knew  not  of 

him,  or  whether  he  was  open  to  aid  or  shelter  nu\     His 

own  safety  had  been  long  in  peril ;  he  might  be  dead,  for 

all  I  knew.    I  tlianked  the  i)oor  woman  warndy,  and  then 

asked  her  if  the  old  man  might  not  betray  me  to  strangers. 

She  bade  me  leave  all  that  to  her — that  I  shoidd  be  safe 

for  a  while,  at  least. 
21 


310 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  ]\[IGI1TY. 


Soon  afterwards  I  went  abroad,  and  made  my  way  by 
a  devious  route  to  Vobairs  house.  As  I  passed,  I  could 
see  tlie  lights  of  our  fleet  in  the  15asin,  and  the  camp-tires 
of  our  army  on  the  Levis  shore,  on  the  Isle  of  Orleans, 
and  even  at  Montmorenci,  and  the  myriad  lights  in  the 
French  encampment  at  Bcauport.  How  impossible  it  all 
looked — to  unseat  from  this  high  rock  the  Empire  of 
France !  And  how  hard  it  woukl  be  to  get  out  of  this 
same  city  with  Alixe ! 

Voban's  house  stood  amid  a  mass  of  ruins,  itself 
broken  a  little,  but  still  sound  enough  to  live  in.  There 
w^as  no  light.  I  clambered  over  the  debris,  made  my  way 
to  his  bedroom  window,  and  tapped  on  the  shutter. 
There  was  no  response.  I  tried  to  open  it,  but  it  would 
not  stir.  So  I  thrust  beneath  it,  on  the  chance  of  his 
finding  it  if  he  opened  the  casement  in  the  morning,  a 
little  piece  of  paper,  with  one  word  upon  it — the  name  of 
his  brother.  He  knew  my  liandwriting,  and  he  would 
guess  where  to-morrow  would  find  me,  for  I  had  also 
hastily  drawn  upon  the  paper  the  entrance  of  the  cathe- 
dral. 

I  went  back  to  the  little  house  by  the  cathedral,  and 
was  admitted  by  the  stricken  wife.  The  old  man  was 
abed.  I  climbed  up  to  the  small  loft,  and  lay  wide-awake 
for  hours.  At  last  came  the  sounds  that  I  had  waited 
for,  and  presently  I  knew  by  the  tramp  beneath,  and  by 
low  laments  coming  through  the  lloor,  that  a  wife  was 
mournino:  over  the  dead  bodv  of  her  husband.  I  lav  lonff 
and  listened  to  the  varying  sounds,  but  at  last  all  became 
still,  and  I  fell  asleep. 


I 


IN  THE  CATTIEDRAr.. 


311 


ly  way  by 
],  I  could 
lamp-tires 
Orleans, 
its  ill  the 
uiblc  it  all 
jiiipire  of 
Lit  of  this 


ins. 


itself 
n.  There 
le  my  way 
e  shutter, 
t  it  would 
lice  of  his 
norning,  a 
le  name  of 

he  would 
[  had  also 

:he  cathe- 

edral,  and 

man  was 

ade-awake 

ad  waited 

1,  and  by 

wife  was 

I  lay  long 

ill  became 


I 


XXV. 


IX   THE   CATITEDRAL. 


I  AWOKE  with  the  dawn,  and,  dressing,  looked  out  of 
tho  window,  seeing  tlic  brindled  I'ght  spread  over  tlie 
battered  roofs  and  ruins  of  the  Lower  Town.  A  bell 
was  calling  to  prayers  in  the  battered  Jesuit  College  nut 
far  away,  and  bugle-calls  told  of  the  stirring  garrison. 
Soldiers  and  stragglers  passed  down  the  streets  near  by 
and  a  few  starved  })easants  crept  about  the  cathedral  with 
downcast  eyes,  eager  for  crumbs  that  a  well-fed  soklier 
might  cast  aside.  Yet  I  knew  that  in  the  Intendant's 
palace  and  among  the  oflicers  of  the  army  there  was 
abundance,  with  revelry  and  dissipution. 

Presently  I  drew  to  the  trap-door  of  my  loft,  and, 
raising  it  gently,  came  down  the  ladder  to  the  little  hall- 
way, and  softly  opened  tho  door  of  the  room  where 
Labrouk's  body  lay.  Candles  were  burning  at  his  head 
and  his  feet,  and  two  peasants  sat  dozing  in  chairs  near 
by.  I  could  sec  Labrouk's  face  plainly  in  the  llickering 
lidit :  a  rouo-h,  wholesome  face  it  was,  refined  by  death, 
yet  unshaven  and  unkempt,  too.  Here  was  work  for  Vo- 
ban's  shears  and  razor.  Presently  there  was  a  footstep 
behind  me,  and,  turning,  I  saw  in  tho  half-light  the  wid- 
owed wife. 

"  Madame,"  said  I  in  a  whisper,  "  I  too  weep  with 
you.     I  pray  for  as  true  an  end  for  myself." 

"  lie  was  of  tho  true  fairh,  thank  the  good  God,"  she 
said  sincerely.  She  passed  into  the  room,  and  the  two 
watchers,  after  taking  refreshment,  left  the  house.  Sud- 
denly she  hastened  to  the  door,  called  one  back,  and, 
pointing  to  the  body,  whispered  something.  The  peas- 
ant nodded  and  turned  away.  She  came  back  into  the 
room,  stood  looking  at  the  face  of  the  dead  man  for  a 


312 


THE  SEATS   OF  THE   MIGHTY 


moinciit,  and  l)oiit  over  jiiul  kissed  tlio  orueilix  clasped 
in  the  cold  hands.  Then  she  stepped  abont  the  room, 
moving  a  chair  and  sweeping  n})  a  s])eck  of  dust  in  a 
mechanical  \v;iy.  TresLMilly,  as  if  she  again  reniembered 
me,  she  asked  mo  to  enter  tlu;  room.  Tlien  she  bolted 
the  onter  door  of  the  house.  1  stood  looking  at  the  botiy 
of  her  husband,  and  saiil,  "  Were  it  not  well  to  have 
Voban  the  barber  V  " 

''  1  have  sent  for  him  and  for  Gabord,"  she  replied. 
"  Gabord  was  Jean's  good  friend,  lie  is  with  (general 
Montcalm.  The  Governor  put  him  in  prison  becanse  of 
the  marriage  of  Mademoiselle  J)uvarney,  but  jMonsieur 
Doltaire  set  him  free,  and  now  he  serves  General  Mont- 
calm. 

"  I  have  work  in  tlie  cathedral,"  continued  the  poor 
woman,  "and  1  shall  go  to  it  this  morninix  as  I  have  al- 
ways  gone.  I'here  is  a  little  unused  closet  in  a  gallery 
wdiere  you  may  hide,  and  still  see  all  that  happens.  It  is 
your  last  look  at  the  lady,  and  I  will  give  it  to  you,  as 
you  gave  me  to  know  of  my  Jean." 

"  My  last  look  ?  "  I  asked  eagerly. 

"  She  goes  into  the  nunnery  to-morrow,  they  say,"  was 
the  reply.  "  Her  marriage  is  to  be  set  aside  by  the  bishop 
to-d;iV — in  the  cathedral.  This  is  her  last  ni'dit  to  live 
as  such  as  I — tjut  no,  she  will  be  hap})ier  so." 

"Madame,"  said  1,  "I  am  a  heretic,  but  I  listened 
when  your  liusband  said,  '  Mon  fjr((])(l  liommo  de  (.'al- 
vairc,  (mn  soir!^  Was  the  ci'oss  less  a  cross  because  a 
heretic  put  it  to  his  li})s?  Is  a  marriage  less  a  marri;ige 
because  a  heretic  is  the  husbaiul?  Madame,  you  loved 
your  Jean  ;  if  he  wei'c  living  now,  what  would  you  do  to 
keep  him?     'J'hink,  madanie,  is  not  love  more  than  all?" 

She  turned  to  the  dead  l)ody.  "  J/oy/  pefil  Jonnl''^ 
she  murmured,  but  made  no  reply  to  me,  and  for  numy 
minutes  the  room   was  silent.     At  last  she  turned,  and 


I 


tix  clasped 
tlio  room, 
(lust  ill  ii 
iiiienibcrc'd 
si  10  bolted 
,t  the  body 
11    to  have 

10  replied, 
h  (ieneral 
because  of 
j\[oiisieiir 
pral  Moiit- 

tlie  poor 
I  have  al- 
.  a  gallery 
ens.  It  is 
to  you,  as 


say,"  was 
the  bishop 
:ht  to  live 

T  listened 
7'  dc    Cal- 

because  a 
I  marriage 
you  loved 

you  do  to 
h^an  all?" 
//  Jean  ! " 

for  many 
riu'd,  and 


'^ 


-{-^ 


>^ 


IN  THE  CATHEDRAL. 


3i;i 


said,  "  You  must  como  at  onec,  for  soon  the  priests  will 
beat  the  ';liurcli.  A  liltlo  later  I  will  bring  you  some 
breakfast,  aiid  you  must  uot  stir  from  there  till  I  come 
to  fetcli  you — no." 

''  1  wish  to  see  \'obau,"  said  [. 

She  thought  a  momeut.  "  1  will  try  to  fetch  him  to 
you  by-aud-bye,"  she  said.  She  did  not  speak  further, 
but  liuished  the  sentence  by  pointing  to  the  body. 

Presently,  hearing  footsteps,  she  drew  me  into  another 
little  room.  "It  is  the  grandfather,"  she  said.  "He 
has  forgotten  you  uireaily,  and  he  must  not  see  you 
again." 

We  saw  the  old  man  hobble  into  the  room  we  h;id  left, 
carrying  in  one  arm  Jean's  coat  and  hat.  lie  stood  still, 
and  bowed  to  the  body  ami  nuunbled  to  himself;  then 
he  went  over  and  touched  tlie  hands  and  forehead,  nod- 
ding wisely ;  after  which  he  came  to  his  armchair,  and, 
sitting  down,  spread  the  coat  over  his  knees,  put  the  cap 
on  it,  and  gossip[)ed  Avitli  himself. 

"  In  oiM  our  idlr  fancies  all  return, 
The  mind's  eye  cradled  by  tlie  open  grave." 

A  moment  later,  tlie  woman  passed  from  the  rear  of 
the  house  to  the  vestry  door  of  the  cathedral.  After  a 
minute,  seeing  no  one  near,  I  followed,  came  to  the  front 
door,  entered,  and  passed  up  a  side  aisle  towards  the  choir. 
There  was  no  one  to  be  seen,  but  soon  the  woman  came 
out  of  the  vestry  mid  becdvoned  to  me  nervously.  I  fol- 
lowed her  quick  movements,  and  was  presently  in  a  narrow 
stairway,  coming,  ;ifter  fifty  steps  or  so,  to  a  sort  of  clois- 
ter, from  which  we  went  into  a  little  cubiculum,  or  cell, 
with  a  wooden  lattice  door  which  opened  on  a  smnll 
gallery.  Through  tb*"  lattices  tiie  nave  and  elujir  could 
be  viewed  distinctly. 

Without  a  word  the  woman  turned  and  left  me,  and 


314 


TIIK  SEATS  OF  TIIK   MIGHTY. 


I  sat  down  on  a  little  stone  Ix-ncli  und  waited.  I  saw 
the  acolytes  eonie  and  *^o,  and  })riests  move  baek  and 
forth  before  the  altar ;  1  smelt  the  «i rate I'ul  incense  as  it 
rose  when  mass  was  said,  and  walehed  ilie  people  gather 
in  little  clusters  at  the  diil'erent  siirines,  or  soeiv  tho 
confessional,  or  kneel  to  receive  the  blessed  sacrament, 
^lany  who  can  j  were  familiar — among  them  Mademoi- 
selle JiUcie  Lothiniere.  Lucie  j)i  :ye('  long  before  a 
shrine  of  the  Virgin,  aiul  when  she  rose  at  last  her 
face  bore  signs  of  weeping.  Also  I  noticed  her  sud- 
denly stai't  as  she  moved  down  the  aisle,  for  a  iigure 
came  forward  from  seclusion  and  touched  her  arm.  As 
he  half  turned  1  saw  that  it  was  Jnste  J)uvarney.  Tho 
girl  drew  back  from  hini,  raising  her  haiul  as  if  in  pro- 
test, and  it  struck  me  that  her  grief  and  her  repulse  of 
him  had  to  do  with  putting  Alixe  awtiy  into  a  nnnnery. 

I  sat  hungry  and  thirsty  for  quite  three  hours,  and  then 
the  chnrch  became  empty,  and  only  an  old  verger  kept 
his  seat  by  the  door,  half  asleep,  though  the  artillery  of 
both  armies  was  at  work,  and  the  air  was  laden  with  the 
smell  of  powder.  (lentil  this  time  our  batteries  had 
avoided  firing  on  the  churches.)  At  last  I  heard  footsteps 
near  me  in  the  dark  stairway,  and  I  felt  for  my  i)istols, 
for  the  feet  were  not  those  of  Labrouk's  wife.  I  waited 
anxiously,  and  was  overjoyed  to  see  Voban  enter  my  hid- 
ing-i)lace,  hearing  some  food.  I  greeted  him  warmly,  but 
he  made  little  demonstration.  ]Ie  was  like  one  who,  oc- 
cupied with  some  great  matter,  passed  through  the  usual 
affairs  of  life  with  a  distant  eye.  Immediately  he  handed 
me  a  letter,  saying  : 

"  ]\rsieu',  I  give  my  word  to  hand  you  this — in  a  day 
or  a  year,  as  I  am  able.  I  get  your  message  "to  me  this 
morning,  and  then  I  come  to  care  for  Jean  Labrouk,  and 
vso  I  find  you  here,  and  I  give  the  letter.  It  come  to  me 
last  night." 


IN  THE  CATIIEDIIAL. 


315 


.     I  saw 

jjiL'k  and 
I'Hsc  as  it 
\o  gather 
KC'i'k  the 
Lcrainent. 
iladcinoi- 
bufore  a 
last  licr 
licr  sud- 
a  il<^ure 
inn.  As 
vy.  The 
f  in  pro- 
epiilse  of 
iniiery. 
and  tlieu 
u^er  kept 
tillery  of 
with  tlie 
ries  had 
footste})s 
y  })istols, 
1  waited 
my  hid- 
■nily,  but 
who,  00- 
lie  usual 
e  handed 

-in  a  day 
me  this 
ouk, and 
LC  to  me 


The  letter  was  from  Alixc.  I  opened  it  with  haste, 
and  in  the  dim  light  read  : 

My  iu:lovi:d  IIl'shand:  Oh,  was  there  no  ^lower  in 
eartli  or  heaven  to  bring  me  to  your  arms  to-day  V 

To-morrow  they  eonie  to  see  my  marriage  annulled 
by  the  Chureh.  And  every  one  will  say  it  is  annulled — 
every  one  but  me.  1,  in  Uod's  name,  will  say  no,  though 
it  break  my  heart  to  oppose  myself  to  them  all. 

AVhy  did  iuy  brother  come  baek?  lie  has  been  hard 
— 0  Robert,  he  has  been  liard  upon  me,  and  yet  I  was 
ever  kind  to  him  !  My  father,  too,  he  listens  to  the 
Church,  and,  tliough  he  likes  not  ]\Ionsieur  Doltaire,  he 
works  fo'i  him  in  a  liundred  ways  without  seeing  it.  I, 
alas !  see  it  too  well,  and  my  brother  is  as  wax  in  mon- 
sieur's liands.  Juste  loves  Lucie  Lotbiniere — that  should 
make  him  kind.  She,  sweet  friend,  does  not  desert  me, 
but  is  kept  from  me.  .She  say3  she  will  not  yield  to  Juste's 
suit  until  he  yields  to  me.  If — oh,  if  Madame  Jamond 
had  not  gone  to  Montreal ! 

...  As  I  w^as  writing  the  foregoing  sentence,  my 
father  asked  to  see  me,  and  we  have  had  a  talk — ah,  a 
most  bitter  talk ! 

"  Alixe,"  said  he,  "  this  is  our  last  evening  together, 
and  1  would  have  it  peaceful." 

"  My  father,"  said  I,  "it  is  not  my  will  that  this  even- 
ing be  our  last ;  and  for  peace,  1  long  for  it  with  all  my 
heart." 

lie  frowned,  and  answered,  "  You  have  brouglit  me 
trouble  and  sorrow.  ^Mother  of  God  !  was  it  not  possible 
for  you  to  be  as  your  sister  Georgette?  I  gave  her  less 
love,  yet  she  honours  me  more." 

"  She  honours  you,  my  father,  by  a  sweet,  good  life, 
and  by  marriage  into  an  honourable  family,  and  at  your 


310 


rp 


TIIH  SKATS  OF  TIIK   MUillTV. 


word  hIic  ;^iv(\s  lu-r  hand  to  Aroiisiuiir  Aiiguste  du  la  Da- 
runte.  She  iimrrit'S  to  your  j)U'!isuro,  tlierul'ore  she  hun 
pcju'o  jiiid  your  h)ve.  I  marry  a  man  of  my  own  choos- 
in<^,  a  bitterly  wronged  geiitloman,  and  you  treat  nu;  as 
some  wicked  thing.  Js  tliat  liki;  a  father  wiio  loves  his 
child?" 

"  Tile  wronged  gentU.^ian,  as  you  call  him,  invaded 
tluit  whieh  is  the  i)ride  of  every  honest  gentleman,"  he 
said. 

"And  what  is  tliat?"  asked  I  quietly,  thougli  I  felt 
the  blootl  beating  at  my  temples. 

"-  My  family  honour,  the  good  name  ai.'d  virtue  of  my 
daugliter." 

I  got  to  my  feet,  and  looked  my  father  in  the  eyes 
with  an  anger  and  a  coldness  that  hurt  me  now  when  1 
think  of  it,  and  I  said,  "  1  will  not  let  you  speak  so  to  me. 
Friendless  though  I  be,  you  shall  not.  You  have  the 
power  to  oppress  me,  but  you  shiiU  not  slander  me  to  my 
face.    Can  not  vou  leave  insults  to  mv  enemies?" 

"I  will  never  leave  you  to  the  insults  of  this  mock 
marriage,"  answered  he,  angrily  also.  "  Two  days  hence 
I  take  command  of  five  hundred  burghers,  and  your 
brother  .Tuste  serves  with  fJeneral  Montcalm.  There  is  to 
be  last  fighting  soon  between  ns  and  the  English.  T  do 
not  doubt  of  tlie  result,  but  T  may  fall,  and  your  brother 
also,  and.  should  the  Kjiglish  win,  T  will  not  leave  yon  to 
him  you  nail  your  husband.  Therefore  you  shall  be  l\e{)t 
safe  where  no  alien  hands  may  reach  you.  The  Church 
will  hold  you  close." 

I  calmed  myself  again  while  listening  to  liim,  and  I 
asked,  "Is  ther*^  no  other  way?" 

lie  shook  his  head. 

"  Is  there  no  ^[onsieur  Doltaire?  "  said  I.  "  He  has  a 
king's  blood  in  his  veins  !  " 

He  looked  sharply  at  me.     "  You  are  mocking,"  he 


IN  TIIH  CATIIKDIIAL 


10  la  Dii- 
hIio  1iu8 

11  clioos- 
it  nic!  us 
loved  his 

invadrd 
nun,"  ho 

r]i  I  felt 

lie  of  my 

the  eyes 
V  when  1 
so  to  me. 
liuve  the 
no  to  my 

is  mock 
vs  hence 

1(1  your 
lere  is  to 
:li.     I  do 

hrother 
e  yon  to 

be  kept 

Church 

n,  and  I 


To  luis  a 


mg,"  he 


n^plied.  "No,  no,  that  is  no  way,  cither.  >r()nsieiir  l)ol- 
taire  must  never  luatc  with  daiiglilcr  of  iiiine.  1  will  take 
cure  of  that;  llie  ('huich  is  u  pci'Tcrt  if  ni-mjc  jiiiK.!-." 

I  could  hi'ar  it,  no  louder.  1  kinll  to  liiiu.  I  he^^i^cd 
him  to  iiave  pity  on  inc.  I  pleaded  with  him  :  I  iccalled 
tile  days  when,  as  a  child,  1  sat  ii[ion  hi,^  kiicc.-iiid  li.-tciicd 
to  the  wonderful  tales  \iv  told;  I  hcLi'Lrcd  hiin,  l»v  the  niciii- 
ory  of  all  the  vears  wlu'ii  he  and  1  wcri'  such  ti'iic  fririKks 
to  be  kind  to  me  now,  to  be  nici'ciful  — even  tlioii;:ii  he 
thought  1  had  done  wrong — to  be  iiici'ciful.  J  a-ked  him 
to  remember  that  1  was  a  niothci'lcss  girl,  ai'd  that  if  l 
had  missed  the  way  to  liappiiicss  he  ought  not  to  make 
my  path  bitter  to  the  end.  J  begged  him  to  give  mc  bat  k 
his  love  and  conlidcnce,  and,  if  1  must  for  evermore  he 
parted  from  you,  to  let  me  be  with  him,  not  to  put  me 
away  into  u  convent. 

"  Oh,  how  my  heart  leaped  when  I  saw  ins  face  soften  I 
"Well,  well,"  he  said,  "if  J  live,  you  shall  be  taken  from 
the  convent;  but  for  the  pn^scnt,  till  this  lighting  is  over, 
it  is  the  only  safe  i)lace.  There,  too,  you  shall  be  safe 
from  Monsieur  Doltaire." 

It  was  poor  comfort.  "  I'Ut  should  you  be  killed,  and 
the  Eno-lish  take  Quebec?"  said  1. 

"When  I  am  dead,"  he  answered,  "  wlieii  I  am  dead, 
then  there  is  your  brother." 

"  And  if  he  speaks  for  ]\[onsieur  Doltaire?"  asked  I. 

"There  is  the  Church  and  God  always,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"And  mv  own  husband,  the  man  who  saved  your  hie, 
mv  father,"' I  urged  irently;  and  when  he  would  luive 
spoken  I  threw  myself  into  his  arms-the  first  time  m 
such  lonir,  lonir  weeks  I-and  sto]»pii>,i:-  ^'i^  li]»^  with  my 
fingers,  burst  into  tears  on  his  breast.  1  think  much  ot 
his  anger  against  me  passed,  yet  before  he  left  he  said  he 
could  not  now  prevent   the  annulment  of   the  marriage, 


'•■). 


318 


THE  SEATS   OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


even  if  ho  would,  for  other  powers  were  at  work ;  which 
powers  I  supposed  to  he  the  CJovernor,  for  cei'tiiin  reasons 
of  enmity  to  my  fatlier  and  me — akis !  how  changed  is 
he,  the  vain  old  man! — and  ^Monsieur  Doltaire,  wliose 
ends  I  knew  so  well.  So  they  will  nuwed  us  to-morrow, 
Eobert ;  but  be  sure  that  I  shall  never  be  unwed  in  my 
own  eyes,  and  that  I  will  wait  till  I  die,  hoping  you  will 
come  and  take  me — oh,  Kobert,  my  husband — take  me 
home ! 

If  I  had  one  hundred  men  I  would  fight  my  way 
out  of  this  city,  and  to  you  ;  but,  dear,  I  have  none,  not 
even  Gabord,  who  is  not  let  come  near  me.  There  is 
but  Vobar,  Yet  he  will  bear  you  tliis,  if  it  be  possible, 
for  he  comes  to-night  to  adorn  my  fashionable  brother. 
The  poor  Mathilde  I  have  not  seen  of  late.  She  has 
vanislied.  AVlien  they  began  to  keep  me  close,  and  car- 
ried me  off  at  last  into  the  country,  where  we  were 
captured  by  the  English,  I  could  not  scg  Jier,  and  my 
heart  aches  for  her. 

God  bless  you,  Robcic,  and  farewell.  How  we  Ghall 
smile  when  all  this  misery  is  done !  Oh,  say  wc  shall,  say 
we  shall  smile,  and  all  tliis  misery  cease !  Will  you  not 
take  me  home  ?    Do  you  still  love  thy  wife,  thy 

Alixe  ? 

I  bade  Vol)an  come  to  me  at  the  little  house  behind 
the  church  that  night  at  ten  o'clock,  and  by  then  I 
should  have  arranged  some  plan  of  action.  I  knew  not 
whether  to  trust  Gabord  or  not.  I  was  sorry  now  tliat  I 
had  not  tried  to  bring  Clark  with  me.  lie  was  fearless, 
and  he  know  the  town  well ;  but  he  lacked  discretion, 
and  that  was  vital. 

Two  hours  of  waiting,  then  came  a  scene  which  is 
burned  into  my  brain.  1  looked  down  upon  a  mass  of 
people,  soldiers,  couriers  of  the  woods,  beggars,  priests, 


v  ■■ 


IN  THE  CATHEDRAL 


^ork ;  which 
•tuin  reasons 
chauged  is 
taire,  wlioso 
5  to-morrow, 
Qwed  iu  my 
ing  you  will 
d — take  me 

;lit  my  way 
e  none,  not 
!.  There  is 
be  possible, 
ble  brother. 
She  has 
se,  and  car- 
•e  we  were 
or,  and  my 

)w  we  ijhall 
i'l'  shall,  say 
^ill  you  not 

Alixe  ? 

mse  behind 
by  then  I 
I  knew  not 
now  that  I 
^^as  fearless, 
discretion, 

le  which  is 
.  a  mass  of 
irs,  priests, 


311) 


camp  followers,  and  anxious  gentlefolk,  come  from  seclu- 
sion, or  hiding,  or  vigils  of  war,  to  see  a  host  of  powers 
torture  a  young  girl  who  throu-li  suiTcring  had  been  made 
a  wonuxn  long  before  her  time.  Out  in  the  streets  was 
the  tramping  of  armed  men,  together  with  the  call  of 
bugles  and  the  sharp  rattle  of  drums.  Presently  I  heard 
the  hoofs  of  many  horses,  and  soon  afterwards  there 
entered  the  door,  aiul  way  was  nuide  fof  him  up  the 
nave,  the  ^Larquis  de  Vaudreuil  and  his  suite,  with  the 
Chevalier  de  la  Daraute,  the  Intendant,  and— to  my 
indignation — Juste  Duvarney. 

They  had  no  sooner  tcdvcn  their  places,  than  from  a 
little  side  door  near  tlie  vestry  there  entered  tlie  Seio-n- 
eur  Duvarney  and  Alixe,  who,  conring  down  slowly,  took 
places  very  near  the  chancel  steps.  Tlie  Seigneur  was 
pale  and  stern,  and  carried  himself  with  great  dignity. 
His  glance  never  shifted  from  the  choir,  where  the  priests 
slowly  entered  and  took  their  places,  the  aged  and  feeble 
bishop  going  falteringly  to  his  throne.  Alixe's  face  was 
pale  and  sorrowful,  and  yet  it  had  a  dignity  and  self- 
reliance  that  gave  it  a  kind  of  grandeur.  A  buzz  passed 
through  the  building,  yet  I  noted,  too,  with  gladness,  that 
tliere  were  teors  on  many  faces. 

A  figure  stole  in  besiile  Alixe.  It  was  ]\rademoise]le 
Lotbiniere,  who  immediately  was  followed  by  her  mother. 
I  leaned  forward,  perfectly  hidden,  and  listened  to  the 
singsong  voices  of  tlie  jiriests,  the  musical  note  of  the 
responses,  heard  the  Kyrie  Eleison,  the  clanging  of  the 
belfry  bell  as  the  host  was  raised  by  the  trembling  bishop. 
The  silence  which  followed  the  mournful  voluntary  played 
by  the  organ  was  most  painful  to  me. 

At  that  moment  a  figure  stepped  from  behind  a  pillar 
and  gave  Alixe  a  dee}),  scrutinizing  look.  It  was  Dol- 
taire.  He  was  graver  than  1  had  ever  seen  him,  and  was 
dressed  scrupulously  in    black,  witii   a   little  white  lace 


320 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


showing  at  the  wrists  mid  neck.  A  handsomer  figure  it 
would  be  ha.'d  to  see  ;  and  I  hated  him  for  it,  and  won- 
dered what  new  devilry  was  in  his  mind,  lie  seemed  to 
sweep  the  church  with  a  glance.  Nothing  could  have 
escaped  that  swift,  searching  look.  His  eyes  were  even 
raised  to  where  1  was,  so  that  1  involuntarily  drew  back, 
though  1  knew  he  could  not  see  me. 

1  was  arrested  suddenly  by  a  curious,  even  sneering 
smile  which  played  upon  his  face  as  he  looked  at  Vau- 
dreuil  and  Hi<j:ot.  There  was  in  it  more  scorn  than  mal- 
ice,  more  trium})h  than  active  hatred.  All  at  once  I  re- 
membered what  he  had  said  to  me  the  day  before  :  that 
he  had  commission  from  the  King,  through  La  Pompa- 
dour, to  take  over  the  reins  of  government  from  the  two 
confederates,  and  send  them  to  France  to  answer  the 
charo-es  made  airainst  them. 

At  last  the  bishop  came  forward,  and  read  from  a 
paper  as  follows  : 

"  Forasj))ur/i  as  tl/e  ircll-hdovcd  cldJil  of  our  llohj 
Churchy  MademoisellG  AJixe  DnvaniPij^  of  the  parisli  of 
Beaypnrt  and  of  this  cathrdral  pfwish,  in  this  province 
of  Xeic  France,  forijcttinfj  her  nut  n  if  est  dnt//  and  our 
sacred  wacliinii,  did  iUefitdlij  and  in  sinful  error  make 
feigned  contract  (f  inarriat/e  with  one  Robert  Moray, 
captain  in  a  Virfjinia  rcfjiment,  a  heretic,  a  spij,  and 
an  enemij  to  our  cni/?/trj/ ;  (Oid  forasmucli  as  this  icas 
done  in  violoice  (f  all  nice  hatnt  and  comnicndahle 
ot)edience  to  Mtdher  Church  and  our  national  vses,  we 
do  herelj//  declare  (/nd  make  void  this  alliance  until  such 
time  as  the  ILili/  Father  at  liome  shall  finally  approve 
our  action  and  proclaiuiiny.  Jud  it  is  enjoined  upon 
Mademoiselle  Alixe  Duvarney,  on  peril  of  her  souVs 
salvation,  to  uhoy  us  in  this  matter,  and  neither  by 
word  or  deed  or  thought  have  commerce  more  with  this 
notorious  and  evil  heretic  and  foe  of  our  Church  and  of 


IN  THE  CATIIEDRiNL. 


321 


or  figure  it 
t,  and  won- 
)  seemed  to 
could  have 
were  even 
drew  back, 

n  sneering 
ed  at  Vau- 
i  than  mal- 
t  once  I  re- 
?fore :  that 
^a  Ponipa- 
:)ni  tlie  two 
inswer  the 

ad  from  a 

on 7'  Holy 

parish  of 
's  province 
'/  and  our 
rrur  make 
rt    Moray ^ 

f^py^  and 
-;  i/tis  was 
amcndalle 
I  nses,  v'c 
intlil  sfir// 
'y  approve 
ined  upon 
Iter  soaVs 
icilher   by 

loith  this 
'ch  and  of 


our  country.  It  is  also  the  plain  duty  of  tlie  faithful 
children  of  our  Holy  Cliurch  to  regard  tit  is  Captain 
Moray  ivith  a  pious  Itafred,  and  to  destroy  liiui  leit/t- 
out  pity ;  and  any  good  cunning  or  enticement  irt/ich 
sliould  lure  him  to  tlie  punishment  tie  so  maeli  deserves 
shall  he  approved.  Furthermore,  Mademoiselle  Alixe  Dn- 
varney  sludl,  nntil  such  times  as  there  shfdl  be  peace  in 
this  land,  and  the  molesting  English  be  driven  bac/c  with 
slaughter— and  for  all  time,  if  the  heart  of  our  sister  in- 
cline to  penitence  and  love  of  Clirist—be  lioiised  within 
the  Convent  of  the  UrsuUnes,  and  cared  fur  with  great 
tenderness.''^ 

He  left  off  reading,  and  began  to  address  himself  to 
Alixe  directly;  but  she  rose  in  her  place,  and  while 
surprise  and  awe  seized  the  congregation,  she  said  : 

"  Monseigneur,  I  must,  at  my  father's  bidding,  hear 
the  annulment  of  my  marriage,  but  I  will  not  hear  this 
public  exhortation.  I  am  only  a  poor  girl,  unlearned  in 
the  law,  and  I  must  submit  to  your  power,  for  I  have  no 
one  here  to  spei  k  for  me.  But  my  soul  and  my  con- 
science I  carry  to  my  Saviour,  and  I  have  no  fear  to 
answer  Him.  I  am  sorry  that  I  have  offended  my 
peoj)le  and  my  country  aud  Holy  Cimrch,  but  I  do  not 
repent  that  I  love  and  hold  to  my  husband.  You  must 
do  with  me  as  you  will,  but  in  this  I  shall  never  will- 
ingly yield." 

She  turned  to  her  father,  and  all  the  people  breathed 
hard  ;  for  it  passed  their  understanding,  and  seemed  scan- 
dalous that  a  girl  should  thus  defy  the  Church,  and  an- 
swer the  bishop  in  his  own  cathedral.  Her  father  rose, 
and  then  I  saw  her  sway  witli  faintness.  I  know  not  what 
might  have  occurred,  for  the  bishop  stood  with  hand  up- 
raise(i  and  great  indignation  in  his  face,  about  to  speak, 
when  out  of  the  desultory  firing  from  our  batteries  there 
came  a  shell,  whicu  burst  even  at  the  cathedral  entrance, 


322 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


tore  away  a  portion  of  the  wall,  and  killed  and  wounded 
a  number  of  peo2)le. 

Then  followed  a  panic  which  the  priests  in  vain  tried 
to  quell.  The  people  swarmed  into  the  choir  and  through 
the  vestry.  1  saw  Doltairc  and  Juste  Duvarney  spring 
swiftly  to  the  side  of  Alixe,  and,  with  her  father,  put  her 
and  Mademoiselle  Lotbiniure  into  the  pulpit,  forming  a 
ring  round  it,  preventing  the  crowd  from  trampling  on 
them,  as,  suddenly  gone  mad,  Ihcy  swarmed  past.  The 
Governor,  the  Intenuant,  and  the  Chevalier  de  la  Darante 
did  as  much  also  for  J\[adame  Lotbiniere  ;  and  as  soon 
as  the  crush  had  subsided  a  little,  a  number  of  soldiers 
cleared  the  way,  and  I  saw  my  wife  led  from  the  church. 
I  longed  to  leap  down  there  among  them  and  claim  her; 
but  that  thought  was  madness,  for  1  should  have  been 
food  for  worms  in  a  trice  ;  so  I  kept  my  place. 


XXYI. 


THE    SECRET    OF   TITK    TAPESTRY. 

TiTAT  evening,  at  eight  o'clock,  Jean  Labrouk  was 
buried.  A  shell  had  burst  not  a  dozen  paces  from  his 
own  door,  within  the  consecrated  ground  of  the  cathe- 
dral, and  in  a  hole  it  had  made  he  was  laid,  the  only 
mourners  his  wife  and  his  grandfather,  and  two  soldiers  of 
his  company  sent  by  Cleneral  Bougainville  to  bury  him.  I 
watched  the  ceremony  from  my  loft,  whicli  had  one  small 
dormer  window.  It  was  dark,  but  ])urning  buildings  in 
the  Lower  Town  made  all  liglit  about  the  place.  I  could 
hear  the  grandfather  mumbling  and  talking  to  the  body 
as  it  was  lowered  into  tlie  ground.  AVliile  yet  the  priest 
was  hastily  reading  prayers,  a  dusty  horseman  came  rid- 
ing to  the  grave  and  dismounted. 


1  wounded 

vain  tried 
id  through 
ley  spring 
ir,  put  her 
forming  a 
mpling  on 
)ast.  The 
a  Darante 
d  as  soon 
)f  soldiers 
le  church, 
laini  her; 
liave  been 


rouk  was 
from  his 
he  cathe- 
the  only 
loldiers  of 
V  him.  I 
one  small 
Idings  in 
I  could 
the  body 
he  priest 
;ame  rid- 


TIIE  SECRET  OF  THE  TAPES'!  RY.  333 

"Jean,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  grave,  "Joan  Labrouk 
a  man  dies  well  that  dies  with  his  gaiters  on,  aho !  .  .  .' 
What  have  you  said  for  Jean  Labrouk,  m'sieu'  ?'"  he  added 
to  the  priest. 

The  priest  stared  at  him,  as  though  he  had  presumed 

"Well?"  said  Gabord.     "Well?" 

The  priest  answered  nothing,  but  prepared  to  cro 
whispering  a  word  of  comfort  to  the  poor  wife.  Gabord 
looked  at  the  soldiers,  looked  at  the  wife,  at  the  priest, 
then  spread  out  his  legs  and  stuck  his  hands  down  into 
his  pockets,  while  his  horse  rubbed  its  nose  against  his 
shoulder.  He  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  grave,  and  nodded 
once  or  twice  musingly. 

"  Well,"  he  said  at  last,  as  if  he  had  found  a  perfect 
virtue,  and  the  one  or  only  thing  that  might  be  said,  "  well, 
he  never  eat  his  words,  that  Jean  ! " 

A  moment  afterwards  he  came  into  the  house  with 
Babette,  leaving  one  of  the  soldiers  holding  liis  horse. 
After  the  old  man  had  gone,  I  heard  him  say,  "Were  you 
at  mass  to-day?    And  did  you  see  all ? " 

When  she  had  answered  yes,  he  continued  :  "  It  was  a 
mating  as  birds  mate,  but  mating  was  it,  and  holy  fathers 
and  Master  Devil  Doltaire  can't  change  it  till  cock-pheas- 
ant Moray  come  rocketing  to  's  grave.  They  Avould  have 
hanged  me  for  my  part  in  it,  but  I  repent  not,  for  they 
have  wickedly  hunted  this  little  lady." 

"  I  weep  with  her,"  said  Jean's  wife. 
Ay,  ay,  weep  on,  Babette,"  he  answered. 
Has  she  asked  help  of  you  ?  "  said  the  wife. 
Truly;  but  I  know  not  what  she  says,  for  I  read  not, 
but  I  know  her  pecking.     Here  it  is.     But  you  must  be 
secret." 

Looking  though  a  crack  in  the  floor,  T  could  plainly 
see  them.     She  took  the  letter  from  him  and  read  aloud : 

"  If  Gabord  the  soldier  have  a  good  heart  still,  as  ever 


« 


(( 


a 


S'24: 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


ho  hud  in  tlie  past,  he  will  again  help  a  poor,  friendless 
woman.  She  needs  him,  for  all  are  against  her.  Will  he 
leave  her  alone  amonir  her  enemies?  Will  he  not  aid  her 
to  lly?  At  eight  o'clock  to-morrow  night  she  will  be 
taken  to  the  Convent  of  the  Ursnlines,  to  bo  there  shnt  in. 
Will  he  not  come  to  her  before  that  time?" 

For  a  moment  after  the  reading  there  was  silence,  and 
I  could  see  the  woman  looking  at  him  curiously.  "  What 
will  you  do?"  she  asked. 

"  My  faith,  there's  nut  to  crack,  for  I  have  little  time. 
This  letter  but  reached  me,  with  the  news  of  Jean,  two 
hours  ago,  and  I  know  not  what  to  do,  but,  as  I  stand 
scratching  my  head,  here  comes  word  from  Crcneral  Mont- 
calm that  I  must  ride  to  Master  Devil  Doltairo  with  a 
letter,  and  I  must  find  him  wherever  he  may  be,  and  give 
it  straight.  80  forth  I  come;  and  I  must  be  at  my  post 
again  by  morn,  said  the  General." 

"  It  is  now  nine  o'clock,  and  she  will  be  in  the  con- 
vent," said  th(!  womim  tentatively. 

"  Alio  !  "  he  answered,  "  and  none  can  enter  there  but 
Governor,  if  holy  Mother  say  no.  80  now  goes  blaster  Devil 
there?  '  Gabord,'  quoth  he,  'you  shall  come  with  me  to  the 
convent  at  ten  o'clock,  bringing  three  stout  soldiers  of  the 
garrison.  Here's  an  order  on  Monsieur  Ramesay  the  com- 
mandant. Choose  you  tlie  men,  and  fail  me  not,  or  you 
shall  swing  aloft,  dear  Gabord.'  Sweet  lovers  of  hell,  but 
Master  Devil  shall  have  swinging  too  one  day."  lie  put 
his  thuml)  to  his  nose,  and  spread  his  fingers  out. 

Presenilv  he  seemed  to  note  soniethin2:  in  the  woman's 
eyes,  for  he  spoke  almost  sharply  to  her:  "Jean  Labrouk 
was  honest  man,  and  kept  faitli  with  comrades." 

"  And  I  keep  faitli  too,  comrjide,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Gabord's  a  brute  to  doubt  you,"  he  rejoined  quicklv, 
and  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  piece  of  gold  and  made 
her  take  it,  though  she  much  resisted. 


THE  SECRET  OF  TIIK  TA1>ESTRV. 


325 


,  friendless 
••  Will  he 
:iot  aid  her 
lie  will  be 
)re  shut  iu. 

ilence,  and 
^     "What 

little  time. 
Jean,  two 
IS  I  stand 
sral  Mont- 
ire  with  a 
3,  and  give 
it  my  post 

n  the  con- 

■  there  hut 
ister  Devil 
I  me  to  the 
iers  of  the 
y  the  com- 
lot,  or  you 
f  hell,  but 
'  lie  put 
t. 

e  woman's 
1  Jjabrouk 

iswer. 

d  quickly, 

and  made 


Meanwhile  my  mind  was  made  up.  I  saw,  I  thouglit, 
through  "  Master  Devil's"  i)lau,  au<l  I  felt,  too,  tluit'Jja- 
bord  would  not  betray  me.  In  any  case,  (Jabord  and  I 
could  fight  it  out.  If  he  opposed  me,  it  wtis  his  lit'i'  or 
mine,  for  too  much  was  at  stake,  and  all  my  plans  were 
now  changed  by  his  astounding  news.  xVt  tiiat  moment 
Voban  entered  the  room  without  knocking.  Here  was  my 
cue,  and  so,  to  prevent  explanations,  I  crept  quickly  down, 
opened  the  door,  and  came  in  on  tliem. 

They  wiieeled  at  my  footsteps ;  tlie  woman  gave  a  litlic 
cry,  and  Gabord's  hand  went  to  Ids  pistol.  There  was  a 
wild  sort  of  look  in  his  face,  as  though  he  could  not  trust 
his  eyes,.  I  took  no  notice  of  the  menacing  pistol,  but 
went  straight  to  him  and  held  out  mv  hand. 

"  Gabord,"  said  I,  "you  are  not  my  jailer  now." 

"  I'll  be  your  guard  to  citadel,"  said  he,  after  a  mo- 
ment's dumb  surprise,  refusiiig  my  outstretched  hand. 

"  Neither  guard  nor  jailer  any  more,  Gabord,"  said  I 
seriously.     "  We've  had  enough  of  that,  my  friend." 

The  soldier  and  the  jailer  had  heon  working  in  him, 
and  his  fingers  trifled  with  the  trigger.  In  all  things  he 
was  the  foeman  first.  But  now  something  else  was  work- 
ing in  him.  I  saw  this,  and  added  pointedly,  "Xo  more 
cage,  Gabord,  not  even  for  reward  of  twenty  thousand 
livres  and  at  command  of  Holy  Church." 

He  smiled  grimly,  too  grimly,  I  thought,  and  turned 
inquiringly  to  Babette.  In  a  few  words  she  told  him  all, 
tears  dropping  from  her  eyes. 

"If  you  take  him,  you  betray  me,"  she  said;  "and 
what  would  Jean  say,  if  he  knew?" 

"Gabord,"  said  I,  "  I  come  not  as  a  spy;  I  come  to 
seek  my  wife,  and  she  counts  you  as  her  friend.  Do  harm 
to  me,  and  you  do  harm  to  h^r.  Serve  me,  and  you  serve 
her.  Gabord,  you  said  to  her  once  that  I  was  an  hon- 
ourable man." 


90 


326 


THE   SKATS   OF  TIIK   MUJIITY. 


IIo  put  up  his  pisto\  "Alio,  you've  put  you  head  in 
the  trap.     Stir,  and  chck  goes  the  spring." 

"  1  must  liave  my  wife,"  1  continued.  "  Shall  the  uest 
you  helped  to  make  go  em])ty  V  " 

I  worked  upon  him  to  sucii  pnr])ose  that,  all  bristlinn" 
with  war  at  lirst,  he  was  shortly  won  over  to  my  seheme, 
whieh  I  disclosed  to  him  while  tbe  Mife  made  us  a  cup 
of  cot>*'^e.  Through  all  o  ,'  tv'  Whan  lijtd  sat  ying  us 
with  a  covert  interest,  ye'  rh..i  .-■'ug  no  excitement,  lie 
had  been  unable  to  reaeii  Ah  .e.  She  iiad  been  taken  to 
the  convent,  and  immediately  afterwards  her  father  and 
brother  had  gone  their  ways— Juste  to  General  Montcalm, 
and  the  Seigneur  to  tlie  French  camp.  Tims  Alixe  did 
not  know  that  1  was  in  Quebec. 

x\n  hour  after  this  1  was  marching,  with  two  other 
men  and  Gabord,  to  the  Convent  of  the  Ursulines,  dressed 
in  the  ordinary  costume  of  a  French  soldier,  got  from  the 
wife  of  Jean  Labrouk.  In  manner  and  speech  though  I 
was  somewhat  dull,  my  fellows  thought  I  was  enough  like 
a  peasant  soldier  to  deceive  them,  and  my  French  was 
more  fluent  than  their  own.  1  was  i)laying  a  desperate 
game ;  yet  1  liked  it,  for  it  had  a  tine  spice  of  adventure 
apart  from  the  great  matter  at  stake.  If  1  could  but 
carry  it  ofl',  1  should  have  sufllcient  compensation  for  all 
my  miseries,  in  spite  of  their  twenty  thousand  livres  and 
Holy  Church. 

In  a  few  minutes  we  came  to  the  convent,  and  halted 
outside,  waiting  for  ]>oltaire.  Pi'esently  he  came,  and, 
looking  sharply  at  us  all,  he  ordered  two  to  wait  outside, 
and  (labord  and  myself  to  come  with  him.  Then  he 
sto(jd  looking  at  the  building  curiously  for  a  moment. 
A  shell  had  broken  one  wing  of  it,  and  this  portion  had 
been  abandoned ;  but  the  faithful  Sisters  clung  still  to 
their  home,  though  urged  constantly  by  the  Governor  to 
retire  to  the  Hotel-Dieu,  whicli  was  outside  the  reach  of 


^>u  head  in 

ill  the  nest 

11  biist  liner 
ny  SL'henie, 
3  us  a  cup 
yinu^  ns 
niont.  lie 
n  taken  to 
atlier  and 
Montcalm, 
5  Alixe  did 


two  other 
es,  dressed 
t  from  the 
L  though  I 
nough  like 
roncli  was 
des])crate 
adventure 
could  but 
on  for  all 
livres  and 

nd  halted 
ajne,  and, 
it  outside, 
'^riien  he 
moment. 
)rtion  had 
ig  still  to 
>vernor  to 
3  reach  of 


^^?S§W?: 


i       I 


^^5»tv*: 


A*-. 


»^    V, 


.'.'':! 


TIIR  SbXMiRT  OF    TIIK  TAPKSTliV 


327 


shot  and  shell.  This  it  was  their  intention  soon  to  do, 
for  within  the  past  day  or  so  our  batteries  liad  Jiot  soii^dit 
to  spare  the  convent.  As  Doltaire  looked  \\v  laii^died  to 
himself,  and  then  said,  "Too  quiet  for  gay  spirits,  this 
liearse.  Come,  (labord,  and  fetch  this  slouching  fellow," 
nodding  towards  me. 

Then  ho  knocjked  loudly.  No  one  came,  and  he 
knocked  again  jind  again.  At  last  the  door  was  opened 
by  the  Mother  Su[)erior,  Avho  was  attend(  '  by  two  others. 
She  started  at  seeing  Doltaire. 

"  What  do  you  wish,  monsieur?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  come  on  business  of  the  King,  good  Mother,"  ho 
replied  seriously,  and  stepped  inside. 

"  It  is  a  strange  hour  for  business,"  she  said  severely. 

"  The  King  may  come  at  all  hours,"  he  answered 
soothingly  :  "  is  it  not  so?  By  the  law  he  may  enter  when 
he  wills." 

"  You  are  not  the  King,  monsieur,"  she  objected,  with 
her  head  held  up  sedately. 

"  Or  the  Governor  may  come,  good  Mother?" 

"  You  are  not  the  Governor,  Monsieur  Doltaire,"  she 
said,  more  sharply  still. 

"  But  a  Governor  may  demand  admittance  to  this  con- 
vent, and  by  the  order  of  his  Most  Christian  ^lajesty  he 
may  not  be  refused ;  is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  Must  I  answer  the  catechism  of  Monsieur  Doltaire?  " 

"  But  is  it  not  so  ?  "  he  asked  again  urbanely. 

"  It  is  so,  yet  how  does  that  concern  you,  monsieur?" 

"  In  every  way,"  and  he  smiled. 

"  This  is  unseemly,  monsieur.  What  is  your  busi- 
ness?" 

"  The  Governor's  business,  good  Mother." 

"Then  let  the  Governor's  messenger  give  his  message 
and  depart  in  peace,"  she  answered,  her  hand  upon  the 
door. 


328 


TIIK   SHATS  OF   TllM   MKIIITY. 


"  \()t  the  (JoviM'iior's  inesseiiij't'r,  but  the  Governor  him- 
self," 1k'  ivjoiiicd  ^n'jivcly. 

lie  tunu'd  uiul  >vjis  about  to  slnit  the  (h)or,  but  sho 
stopped  him.  "  Tiiis  is  no  house  for  jt'stiii<:f,  monsieur," 
she  said.  ''  I  will  arouse  the  town  if  you  j)('rsist. — Sistur," 
sho  added  to  one  standin<5  near,  "  the  boll !" 

"  You  fill  your  oMiei'  with  f^reat  di<,niity  and  merit, 
j\h''re  8t.  (ic'ori,^',"  he  said,  as  lie  })ut  out  Ids  hand  and 
stayed  the  fSistcr.  "I  commend  you  .for  your  discretion. 
Kv.'ad  this,"  liu  continued,  handini,^  lu'r  a  pajx'r. 

A  SisU-r  held  a  li.ij^ht,  and  the  Mother  read  it.  As 
she  did  so  Doltairo  nuiile  a  nu)tion  to  (Jabord,  and  he 
shut  the  door  (piiekly  on  us.  Mere  St.  (Jeorge  looked 
up  from  the  paper,  staitled  ami  frightened  too. 

"  Your   Kxcellency  !  "  she  exelaimed. 

"  Y'ou  are  the  first  to  call  me  so,"  he  replied.  "  I 
thought  to  leave  untouched  this  good  gift  of  the  King, 
and  to  let  the  ^Farquis  de  Vaudreuil  and  the  admirable 
liigot  untwist  the  coil  they  have  made.  But  no.  After 
some  too  generous  misgivings,  I  now  claim  my  own.  I 
could  not  enter  here,  to  spejik  with  a  certain  lady,  save 
as  tlie  Covernor,  but  as  the  Governor  I  now  ask  speech 
with  Mademoiselle  Duvarney.  Do  you  hesitate?"  he 
added.  "  Do  you  doubt  that  signature  of  his  Majesty  ? 
Then  see  this.  Here  is  a  line  from  the  Marquis  de 
Vaudreuil,  tlie  late  Governor.  It  is  not  dignified,  one 
might  say  it  is  craven,  but  it  is  genuine." 

Airain  the  distressed  ladv  read,  and  a2:ain  she  said, 
"  Your  Excellency  I "  Then,  "  You  wish  to  see  her  in  my 
presence,  your  Excellency  V  " 

"  Alone,  good  Mother,"  he  softly  answered. 

"  Your  Excellency,  will  you,  the  first  ofTicer  in  tlie 
land,  defy  our  holy  rules,  and  rob  us  of  our  privilege  to 
protect  and  comfort  and  save  V  " 

"  I  defy  nothing,"  he  replied.      "  I'he  lady  is  here 


cnior  him- 


or,  but  slu) 
monsieur," 
t.— Sister," 


iind  nuM'it, 
luuul  and 
(liserc'tion. 

tul  it.  As 
•d,  and  h(3 
rge  looked 


plied.  "I 
the  King, 

admirable 
no.  After 
ly  own.     I 

lady,  save 
[isk  speech 
itate?"  he 
!  Majesty  ? 
flarquis  de 
nilied,  one 

I  she  said, 
her  in  my 


cer  in  the 
H'ivilcge  to 


ly  is  here 


TIIK  SI-X-UKT  OF  TlIK  TAPMSTUY. 


I'm*' 


against  her  will,  a  prisoner.  She  does  not  desire  your 
governance  and  eare.  In  any  case,  I  must  s[)eak  with 
her;  and  he  assured,  1  honour  you  the;  more  for  vour 
solicitude,  and  will  ask  your  counsel  when  1  have  linislied 
talk  with  her." 

Was  e\cr  man  so  crafty?  After  a  monu'iit's  thought 
she  turned,  dismissed  th.o  others,  and  kd  the  way,  and 
Cah(»rd  and  I  h.llowed.  We  were  hidden  to  wait  out- 
side a  room,  well  lighted  but  bare,  as  I  could  see  through 
the  open  door.  Doltairo  entered,  smiling,  and  then 
bowetl  the  nun  on  her  way  to  summon  Alixe.  (iahord 
and  I  stood  there,  not  speaking,  for  l)oth  were  thiid<ing 
of  the  dangerous  game  now  playing.  Jn  a  few  minutes 
the  .Mother  returned,  hringing  Alixe.  The  light  from 
the  open  door  shone  upon  her  face.  My  lieart  leaped, 
for  there  was  in  her  look  such  a  deep  sorrow.  She  was 
calm,  save  for  those  shining  yet  steady  eyes ;  they  were 
like  furnaces,  burning  up  the  colour  of  her  clieeks.  She 
wore  a  soft  bhuk  gown,  with  no  sign  of  ornament,  and 
her  gold-l)rown  hair  was  bound  with  a  piece  of  hlack 
velvet  ribbon.  Jler  beauty  was  deeper  than  ]  had  ever 
seen  it ;  a  jjcculiar  gravity  seemed  to  have  added  years 
to  her  life.  Passing  me  her  sleeve  brushed  my  arm,  as  it 
did  that  day  I  was  arrested  in  her  father's  house.  She 
started,  as  though  1  had  touched  her  fingers,  but  she  only 
half  turned  toward  uh  for  her  mind  was  wiiolly  occu|)led 
with  the  room  where  b.  Itaire  was 

At  that  moment  (hibord  coughed  sliglitly,  and  she 
turned  quickly  to  him.  Her  eyes  Hashed  intelligence, 
and  presently,  as  she  passed  in,  a  sort  of  lio])e  seemed 
to  have  come  on  her  face  to  lighte]i  its  painful  ])ensive- 
ness.  The  ^Nfother  Superior  entered  with  her,  the  door 
closed,  and  then,  after  a  little,  the  Mother  came  out 
again.  As  she  did  so  I  sav;  a  look  of  immediate  pur- 
pose in  her    face,  and  her  hurrying  step  persuaded  me 


330 


THE   SKATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


she  was  bent  on  some  project  of  cs|)i;il.  So  I  made  a 
sign  to  CJabord  and  followed  her.  As  she  turned  the 
corner  of  the  hallway  just  beyond,  1  stepped  forward 
silently  and  watched  her  enter  a  room  that  ^^^ukl,  I 
knew,  be  next  to  this  we  guarded. 

Listening  at  the  door  for  a  nu)mcnt,  I  suddenly  and 
softly  turned  the  handle  and  entered,  to  see  the  good 
Mother  with  a  panel  drawn  in  the  wall  before  her  and 
her  face  set  to  it.  She  stepped  back  as  I  shut  the  door 
and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock.  I  put  my  linger  to  my 
lips,  for  she  seemed  about  to  cry  out. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  I.  "  1  watch  for  those  who  love  her. 
I  lun  liei-e  to  serve  her — and  you." 

"  You  are  a  servant  of  the  Seigneur's  ?  "  she  said,  the 
alarm  i)assing  out  of  her  face. 

"  1  served  the  Seigneur,  good  ^Fother,"  I  answered, 
"  and  I  would  lay  down  my  life  for  ma'm'selle." 

"  You  would  hear  ? "  she  asked,  pointing  to  the 
panel. 

1  nodded. 

"  You  speak  French  not  like  a  Breton  or  a  Norman," 
she  added.     "  What  is  your  province  ?  " 

"  I  am  an  Auvergnian." 

She  said  no  more,  but  motioned  to  me,  enjoining 
silence  also  by  a  sign,  and  \  stood  witli  her  beside  the 
panel.  Before  it  was  a  ])iece  of  ta})estry  which  was  mere 
gauze  in  one  place,  and  I  could  see  through  and  hear 
perfectly.  Tiie  room  we  were  in  was  at  least  four  feet 
liigher  than  the  other,  and  we  looked  down  on  its  occu- 
pants. 

"  Presently,  holy  Mother,"  said  I,  "  all  shall  be  told 
true  to  yi)U,  if  you  wish  it.  It  is  not  your  will  to  watch 
and  hear;  it  is  because  you  hjve  the  lady.  But  I  love 
her  too,  and  1  am  to  be  trusted.  It  is  not  business  for 
such  as  you." 


THE  SECRET  OE  THE  TAPESTRY. 


331 


[)  I  made  a 

turned  the 

)ed  forward 

lit  Wwuld,   I 

iddenly  and 
^e  the  good 
3re  her  and 
lut  the  door 
[higer  to  my 

ho  love  her. 

slie  said,  the 

I  answered, 

e." 

ing    to    the 


a  Norman," 


enjonimg 

beside  the 

1  Avas  mere 

1  and  hear 

t  four  feet 

)n  its  occii- 

lall  be  told 

ill  to  wateli 

Hut  I  love 

business  for 


She  saw  my  implied  rebuke,  and  said,  as  I  thought  a 
little  abashed,  "  You  will  tell  me  all  ?  And  if  he  would 
take  her  forth,  give  me  alarm  in  the  room  opposite  yon- 
der door,  and  stay  them,  and " 

"  ISt:iy  them,  holy  .Motlier,  at  the  price  of  my  life !  I 
have  the  honour  of  her  family  in  my  hands." 

She  looked  at  me  gravely,  and  I  assumed  a  peasant 
openness  of  look.  Slie  was  deceived  completely,  and, 
without  further  speech,  she  stepped  to  the  door  like  a 
ghost  and  was  gone.  I  never  saw  a  hunuii)  being  so 
noiseless,  so  uncanny.  Our  talk  had  been  carried  on 
silently,  and  1  liad  closed  the  panel  quietly,  so  that  we 
could  not  be  heard  by  Alixe  or  Doltaire.  Now  I  was 
alone,  to  see  and  hear  my  wife  in  s}>ee.  h  with  my  enemy, 
the  num  who  had  made  a  strong,  and  was  yet  to  make  a 
stronger,  light  to  unseat  me  in  her  aiTections. 

There  was  a  moment's  compunction,  in  which  I  hesi- 
tated to  see  this  meeting  ;  but  there  was  Alixe's  safety 
to  be  thought  on,  and  what  nught  he  not  here  disclose 
of  his  intentions ! — knowing  which,  I  should  act  with 
judgment,  and  not  in  the  dark.  1  trusted  Alixe,  though 
I  knew  well  that  this  honr  would  see  the  great  struggle 
in  her  between  this  scoundrel  and  myself.  1  knew  that 
he  had  ever  had  a  sort  of  power  over  her,  even  while 
she  loathed  his  character  ;  that  he  had  a  hundred  graces 
I  had  not,  place  which  I  hnd  not,  an  intellect  that  ever 
delio-hted  me,  and  a  will  of  iron  when  it  was  called  into 
action.  I  thought  for  one  moment  longer  ere  I  moved 
the  panel.     My  lips  closed  tight,  and  I  felt  a  pang  at  my 

heart. 

Suppose,  in  tliis  contlict,  this  singular  man,  acting  on 
a  nature  already  tried  beyond  reason,  sliould  herd  it  to 
his  will,  to  which  it  was  Iti  some  radical  ways  inclined  ? 
Well,  if  thjit  should  be,  then  I  would  go  forth  and  never 
see  her  more.     She  must  make  her  choice  out  of  her  own 


332 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


heart  and  spirit,  and  figlit  this  fight  alone,  and  having 
fought,  and  lost  or  won,  the  result  should  be  final,  should 
stand,  though  she  was  my  wife  and  I  was  bound  in 
honour  to  })roteet  her  from  all  tluit  might  invade  her 
lovaltv,  to  cherish  her  through  all  temptation  and  dis- 
tress. But  our  case  was  a  strange  one,  and  it  must  be 
dealt  with  according  to  its  strangeness — our  oidy  guides 
our  consciences.  There  were  no  precedents  to  meet  our 
needs ;  our  way  had  to  be  hewn  out  of  a  noisome,  path- 
less wood.  1  nuule  up  my  mind  :  1  would  hear  and  note 
all.  So  1  slid  the  panel  softly,  and  put  my  eyes  to  the 
tapestry,  llow  many  times  dW.  I  see,  in  the  next  hour, 
my  wife's  eyes  ui)raised  to  this  very  tapesh-y,  as  if  apj)eal- 
ing  to  the  face  of  ^ladonna  upon  it !  IIow  many  times 
did  her  eves  look  into  mine  without  knowing  it !  And 
more  than  once  Doltaire  followed  her  glance,  and  a  faint 
smile  passed  over  his  face,  as  if  he  saw  and  was  interested 
in  the  struggle  in  her,  apart  from  his  own  passion  and 
desires. 

When  first  I  looked  in,  she  was  standing  netir  a  tall, 
high-backed  chair,  in  almost  the  same  position  as  on  the 
dav  when  Doltaire  told  me  of  Braddock's  death,  accused 
me  of  being  a  spy,  and  arrested  me.  It  gave  me,  too,  a 
thrill  to  see  her  raise  her  handkerchief  to  her  moath  as  if 
to  stop  a  cry,  as  she  had  done  then,  the  black  sk^eve  fall- 
ing away  from  her  pci-fcct  rounded  arm,  now  looking 
almost  like  nuuhk'  against  the  Lice.  She  held  her  haiul- 
kerchief  to  lior  lips  for  rpiite  a  minute;  aiul  indeed  it 
covered  more  than  a  little  of  her  face,  so  that  the  features 
most  showing  were  her  eyes,  gazing  at  Doltaire  with  a 
look  hard  to  int(,'rpret,  f(jr  there  seemed  in  it  trouble,  en- 
treaty, won<ler,  resistance,  and  a  great  sorrow — no  fear, 
tre})idation,  or  indirectness. 

His  disturbing  words  were  these:  "To-nigiit  T  am 
the  Governor  of  this  country.     You   once  doubted  my 


k1  having 
111,  should 

bound  in 
tivade  hor 
L  and  dis- 
D  must  be 
nly  guides 

meet  our 
)me,  path- 

and  note 
ves  to  the 
lext  hour, 

if  appeal- 
lany  times 

it !  And 
jid  a  faint 

interested 
ission  and 

loar  a  tall, 
as  on  the 
1,  accused 
me,  too,  a 
oath  as  if 
eeve  fall- 
\v  lookiui^ 
ler  hand- 
indeed  it 
'  features 
•('  with  a 
ouble,  en- 
— no  fear, 

ijcht  T  am 
iibted   my 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TAPESTRY. 


3J]3 


power — that  was  when  you  would  save  your  lover  from 
death.  1  proved  it  in  that  snuiU  thing — i  saved  him. 
AVell,  wlien  you  saw  me  carried  oft'  to  the  liastile — it 
looked  like  that — my  power  seemed  to  vanish :  is  it  not 
so?  We  have  talked  of  this  before,  but  now  is  a  time  to 
review  all  things  again.  And  once  more  I  say  I  am  the 
Governor  of  !New  France.  I  have  had  the  commission  iu 
my  hands  ever  since  1  came  back.  But  1  have  spoken  of 
it  to  no  one — except  your  lover  I  " 

"  My  husband  I"  she  said  steadily,  crushing  the  hand- 
kerchief in  her  hand,  which  now  rested  upon  the  chair- 
arm. 

"Well,  well,  your  hnsband — after  a  fasliion.  I  did 
not  care  to  use  this  as  an  argument.  I  chose  to  win  you 
by  personal  means  alone,  to  liave  you  give  yourself  to 
Tinoir  Doltaire  because  you  set  him  before  any  other 
man.  I  am  vain,  you  see;  but  then  vanity  is  no  sin  when 
one  has  tine  aspirations;  and  I  aspire  to  you  ! '' 

She  made  a  motion  ^^ith  her  hand.  ''  Oh,  can  you  nr,t 
spare  me  this  to-day— of  all  days  in  my  life— your  Excel- 
lency?" 

"Let  it  be  plain  'monsieur,'"  he  answered.  "lean 
not  spare  you,  for  this  day  decides  ;dl.  As  I  said,  1  de- 
sired vou.  At  first  my  wish  was  to  possess  you  at  any 
cost :  I  was  your  hunter  only.  I  am  still  your  hunter,  but 
in  a  dilTeren't  way.  I  would  rather  have  you  iu  my  arms 
than  save  Xew  France;  aiid  with  ^fontcalm  I  could  save 
it.  Yauilrcuil  is  a  Idundercr  and  a  fool,  lie  has  sold  the 
country.  l^>ut  what  ambition  is  that?  Xew  France  may 
come  and  go,  and  be  forirot_en,  and  you  and  I  be  none  the 
worse.  There  are  orli  'r  p;v-)vinces  to  conquer.  I»ut  for 
me  there  is  oidy  one  ])rovince,  and  I  will  lift  my  standard 
tliere.and  buil.l  the  grand  chateau  of  my  happiness  there. 
1Miat  is  mv  hope,  and  tluit  is  why  T  come  to  conrpier  it 
and  not  tlie   English.     Let  the  English  go-all  save  one. 


n?A 


THE   SEATS   OE   THE   MTr.lITY. 


;»U(I  he  must  die.  Alrciuly  ho  is  doiid  ;  ho  died  to-day  at 
tho  altar  of  th(^  cathedral " 

"^'o,  no,  no!"  hroi<o  in  Alixe,  her  voice  low  and 
lirni. 

"  But  yes,"  he  said  ;  "  but  yes,  he  is  dead  to  you  for- 
ever. The  Church  has  said  so;  the  state  says  so;  vour 
people  say  so  ;  ri.ee  and  all  manner  of  good  custom  say 
so  ;  and  I,  who  love  you  bettor — yes,  a  hundred  times  better 
— than  ho,  say  so." 

She  made  a  hasty,  dojirecatinfj-  gesture  with  her  hand. 
"Oh,  carry  this  old  song  elsowliore,"  she  said,  "for  I  am 
sick  of  it."  There  were  now  both  scorn  and  weariness  in 
her  tone. 

lie  had  a  singular  patience,  and  he  resented  nothing. 
"  r  understand,"  he  went  on,  '^  what  it  was  sent  your  heart 
his  way.  He  came  to  you  when  you  wei-e  yet  a  child,  be- 
fore you  had  loarnod  the  lirst  secret  of  life.  He  was  a  cap- 
tive, a  })risoner,  he  had  a  wound  got  in  fair  fighting,  and 
I  will  i\o  him  tho  credit  to  say  he  was  an  honest  man;  he 
was  no  spy." 

She  looked  u])  at  him  with  a  slight  ilush,  almost  of 
gratitude.  "  I  know  that  well,"  she  returned.  "  I  knew 
there  was  other  cause  than  spying  at  tho  base  of  all  ill 
treatment  of  him.  I  know  that  you,  you  alone,  kept  him 
prisoner  here  six  long  years." 

"Not  [;  tho  rirande  Marquise — for  weighty  reasons. 
You  should  not  fret  at  those;  five  years,  since  it  gave  you 
what  you  have  clierished  so  much,  a  husband — after  a 
fashion.  Iwit  yet  we  will  do  him  justice  :  he  is  an  honour- 
able fightoi,  !!•'  iris  parts  and  graces  of  a  rude  order.  But 
he  will  never  go  far  in  life;  ho  has  no  instincts  and  habits 
commoi'  w]t'i  \'oii  ;  it  has  beei!,  so  far,  a  compromise, 
fouiuled  I'j.' i:i  tiio  (ild-fashioui'd  ronnuu^e  of  ill-used  cap- 
tive and  i-.;!';-'.  >-iM'te(''  m;iid  ;  tlie  com])assion,  too,  of  the 
superior  for  ihc  \y)^\  the  free  for  tho  caged." 


THE  SECRET  OF   THE  TAPESTRY. 


to-day  at 

low    1111(1 

3  yon  for- 

so ;  your 

istoiii  say 

lies  bettor 

licr  hand. 
'  for  I  am 
ariiiess  in 

I  nothing, 
•our  lieart 
child,  be- 
vas  a  cap- 
iting,  and 
man ;  lie 

ilmo.st  of 
"  I  knew 
of  all  ill 
vept  him 

'  reasons, 
irave  v(ju 
— after  a 
1  hononr- 
ler.  lint 
nd  habits 
mromise, 
used  c;ip- 
lO,  (^f  the 


"Compassion  such  as  your  Excellency  feels  for  nie,  no 
doul)t,"  she  said,  witli  a  slow  pride. 

"  Yon  are  caged,  ijiU  you  may  be  free,"  he  I'ejoined 
meaningly. 

"  Yes,  in  the  same  m.^rket  open  to  him,  and  at  the 
same  price  of  hononr,"  she  r<*plied,  with  dignity. 

"  Will  von  not  sit  down?''  he  now  said,  motionins:  her 
to  a  chair  politely,  and  taking  one  himself,  thus  pausing 
before  he  answered  her. 

I  was  prepared  to  see  liim  keep  a  decorous  distance 
from  her.  I  felt  that  he  was  acting  upon  deliberation; 
that  he  was  trusting  to  the  power  of  liis  insinuating  ad- 
dress, his  sophistry,  to  break  down  bari'iers.  It  was  as  if 
he  knew  himself  at  greater  advantage,  making  no  emo- 
tional demonstrations;  so  allaying  her  fears,  giving  her 
time  to  think;  for  it  was  clear  he  hoped  to  master  her 
inti'lligence.  so  strung  a  part  of  her. 

8he  sat  down  in  the  high-backed  chair,  and  I  noted 
at  the  moment  that  our  batteries  began  to  play  upon 
tlie  town — an  unusual  thing  at  night.  It  gave  me  a 
strange  feeling — the  perfect  stillness  of  the  holy  place, 
the  ([uiet  movement  of  this  tragedy  l)et'ore  me,  on  which 
broke,  with  no  modifying  noises  or  turmoil,  the  shon^ 
ing  cannonade.  Nature,  it  "would  have  seemed,  h;i  i 
forged  a  mood  in  keeping  with  the  time,  for  there  v, -is 
no  jiir  stirring  when  we  came  in,  and  a  strange  sull- 
ness  had  come  upon  the  landsca])e.  In  the  pause,  i  I 
heard  a  len<x,  soft  shullllnf^  of  feet  in  the  corridor — the 
evening  procession  from  the  cha]Hd — and  a,  slow  chant : 

'•^I  (iin  ,spf  <h)W)i  in  a  wilder iiex.<^  l>  Lnrd^  I  (/iii  dhmo. 
If  a  KtnifKjr  voire  r/iil^  0  fc/n-h  nn'  vliat  fo  saji  :  if  I  Jcn- 
ynixlt,  (>  [lire  ine  77///  cii/)  fo  firnt/r  ;  0  sfre//(/f//cn  Tfc'i. 
WJf  !^i)hI.  y.o/v/,  1  (U)i  like  ((  spdvrote  fur  from  home  ;  0 
hri/n/  }iie  fo  77ti)ie  I/o)/oifraf)J''  /lonse.  Preserve  in  ij  hear  I, 
eiicoiiriuje  me^  (iccordi)i(j  to  Tlitj  trutliy 


300 


THE   SEATS   OF   THE   MKIIITY. 


The  words  ciiniG  to  vis  distinctly  yot  distantly,  swelled 
softly,  iind  died  jiwiiy,  leavin^^  Alixo  and  Doltaire  seated 
and  looking  at  each  other.  Alixe's  bands  were  clasped  in 
her  la]). 

"  Your  honour  is  above  all  price,"  he  said  at  last  in 
reply  to  her  latest  words.  "  liut  what  is  honour  in  this  case 
of  yours,  in  whi(di  1  throw  the  ^hole  interest  of  my  life, 
stake  all  ?  h^)r  1  am  convinced  that,  losing,  the  book  of 
fate  w  ill  close  for  me.  AV inning,  I  shall  begin  again,  and 
play  a  part  in  France  which  men  shall  s[)eak  of  when  I  am 
done  with  all.  I  never  had  ambition  for  myself;  for  you, 
Alixe  Duvni-ney,  a  lu-w  spirit  lives  in  me.  ...  I  will  bo 
honest  witli  you.  At  llrst  I  swore  to  cool  my  hot  face  iu 
your  bosom  ;  and  I  would  have  done  that  at  any  price,  and 
yet  I  would  luive  stood  by  tluit  same  dishonour  honourably 
to  the  end.  Xe\er  in  iny  wliole  life  did  I  put  my  whole 
heart  in  any — episode — of  admiration :  I  own  it,  for  you  to 
think  what  vou  will.  Th' re  never  was  a  woman  whom, 
loving  to-day  " — he  smiled — "  I  could  not  leave  to-morrow 
with  no  more  than  a  ])k'asing  kind  of  regret.  Kanies  that 
I  ought  to  have  recalled  1  forgot ;  incidents  were  cloudy, 
like  childish  remembrances.  I  was  not  proud  of  it;  the 
peasant  in  me  spoke  against  it  sometimes.  I  even  have 
wished  that  I,  Indf  peasant,  had  been " 

"  Tf  only  you  had  been  all  peas;int,  this  war,  this 
misery  of  mine  had  never  been,''  she  interrupted. 

lie  nodded  with  an  almost  bovish  candour.  "  Yes,  ves, 
but  I  Avas  h;df  ju'iiiee  also  ;  I  had  been  brought  up,  one 
fo<^t  in  a  cottaire  and  another  in  a  palace.  But  for  vour 
misery:  is  it,  then,  misery?  Xeed  it  be  so?  Ihit  lift 
your  finger,  and  all  will  be  well.  Do  you  wish  to  save 
your  country?  AVould  tliat  be  compensation?  Then  I 
will  show  vou  the  wav.  AVe  have  three  times  as  many 
soldiers  as  !li»^  English,  though  of  poorer  stuff.  We 
could   hold  ti.is    place,  could    defeat    them,   if    we    were 


V,  swelled 
ire  seuteil 
ohisped  ill 

at  lust  in 
II  this  Ciise 
f  my  life, 
le  book  of 
igiiiu,  and 
•hen  I  am 
;  for  you, 

I  will  bo 
ot  face  in 
priee,  and 
onoiirably 
my  whole 
for  von  to 
an  whom, 
o- morrow 
limes  that 
e  cloudy, 
of  it ;  the 

ven  have 

war,    this 

'  Yes,  yes, 

t  up,  one 

for  your 

But  lift 
1  to  save 

Thou  I 

as  many 

it      A\'e 

we    were 


TIIK  SECRET   OE  THE  TAPESTIIY. 


united  and  liad  but  two  thousand  men.  AVe  have  fifteen 
thousand.  As  it  is  now,  A'audrcuil  baulks  Munt(Mliii, 
and  that  Avill  ruin  us  in  tliu  oiid  unless  vou  iiiak(^  it 
otherwise.  You  would  be  a  patriot?  tIicu  sliut  out 
forever  this  Enn-Hsli  ea[)tain  from  your  heart,  and.  open 
its  doors  io  me.  To-morrow  I  will  take  A'audreuirs  place, 
put  your  father  in  E.igot's,  your  brotiier  in  liamesay's— 
they  are  both  perfect  and  capable  ;  I  will  strengthen  tlio 
excellent  Montcalm's  hands  in  every  way,  will  inspire  the 
people,  and  cause  the  English  to  raise  this  siege.  You 
aiul  I  will  do  this:  tlie  Chur'^di  will  bless  us,  tlie  state 
will  thank  ns ;  vour  home  and  countrv  will  be  safe  and 
li'iPPy^  y<^"i'  fatiier  and  brother  honoure<l.  This,  and 
far,  far  greater  things  I  will  do  for  your  stdve." 

He  paused,  lie  had  spoken  with  a  deep  ])ower,  such 
as  I  knew  he  could  use,  ami  1  did  not  wonder  f  .ai  she 
paled  a  little,  even  trem])led  before  it. 

"  Will  you  not  do  it  for  France  ?  "  she  said. 

*'  I  will  not  do  it  for  France,"  be  answered.  "  I  will 
do  it  for  you  alone.  Will  you  not  be  your  countrv's 
friend  ?  It  is  lu)  virtue  in  me  to  })lead  patriotism— it 
is  a  mere  argument,  a  weapon  that  I  use  ;  but  my  heart 
is  behind  it,  and  it  is  a  means  to  that  which  you  will 
thank  me  for  one  duy.  I  would  not  force  you  to  luiy- 
thing,  but  I  would  persuade  3our  reason,  question  your 
foolish  lovaltv  to  a  girl's  mistake.  Can  vou  think  that 
vou  are  riirht?  You  have  no  friend  that  commends  vour 
cause;  the  whole  country  has  aplu'M-ided  you,  tlie  Chureh 
has  cut  you  ot!  from  the  man.  All  is  against  reunion 
Avith  him,  and  most  of  all  your  own  honour.  Come 
witli  me,  and  bo  commended  and  blessed  here,  while 
over  in  France  homaae  shall  be  done  vou.  For  vou  I 
will  take  from  His  Majestv  the  dukedom  which  he  has 
oiTered  me  more  than  once.'' 

Suddenly  with  a  passionate  tone,  he  continued  :  •"  Your 


338 


TlIK  SEATS  OF  TIIM   M.^IIITV. 


!!■!■ 


own  heart  is  spuaking  for  inc.      Have  I  not   soon   you 
trcnil)lo  whon  I  caino  near  you  V "" 

lie  roso  and  camo  forward  a  stop  or  two.  "  You 
thou<jflit  it  was  fear  of  nio.  It  was  fear,  but  fear  of 
tluit  in  you  which  was  ])k'adin<;  for  nu',  while  you  had 
sworn  yourself  away  to  hiui  who  knows  not  antl  can 
never  know  how  to  h)ve  you,  who  has  nothing  kin  with 
you  in  mind  or  lieart — an  alien  of  poor  fortune  and 
poorer  birtl^  'Mid  })rospects." 

He  lixed  nis  eyes  upon  her,  and  wont  on,  Spoaking 
with  forceful  quietness:  "Had  tliere  been  cut  away  that 
mistaken  sense  of  duty  to  him,  which  I  admire  unspeak- 
ably— yes,  tliough  it  is  misplaced — you  and  I  would  have 
come  to  each  other's  arms  long  ago.  Here  in  your  atmos- 
phere I  feel  myself  possessed,  endowed.  I  come  close  to 
you,  and  sometliing  new  in  me  cries  out  simply,  '  I  love 
you,  Alixe,  I  love  you  ! '  See,  all  the  damnable  part  of 
me  is  burned  up  by  the  fire  of  your  eyes  ;  I  stand  upon 
the  aslies,  and  swear  that  I  can  not  live  without  you. 
Come — come " 

lie  stopped  nearer  still,  and  she  rose  like  one  who 
moves  under  some  fascination,  and  I  almost  cried  out, 
for  in  that  moment  she  was  his,  his — I  felt  it ;  he  pos- 
sessed lier  like  some  spirit ;  and  I  understood  it,  for  the 
devilish  golden  beauty  of  his  voice  was  like  music,  and 
he  had  spoken  with  great  skill. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "and  know  where  all  along  your 
love  has  lain.  That  other  wav  is  only  darkness — the 
convent,  which  will  keep  you  buried,  while  you  will 
never  have  heart  for  the  piteous  seclusion,  till  your  life 
is  broken  all  to  })ieoos;  till  you  have  no  hope,  no  de- 
sire, no  love  ;  and  at  last,  under  a  (!Owl,  you  look  out 
upon  the  world,  and,  with  ii  dead  heart,  see  it  as  in  a 
pale  dream,  and  die  at  last :  you,  born  to  be  a  wife, 
without  a  husband;  endowed  to  be    he  perfect  mother, 


I 


TllK  SKCRET  OF  TIIK  TAPESTRY 


jjao 


seen   you 


1. 


(.1 


You 

t    four  of 

you  had 

and    can 

kill  witli 

tune   and 


S|/oaking 
[I way  that 

unspeak- 
Duhl  have 
ur  atnios- 
e  close  to 
y,  '  I  love 
le  part  of 
md  upon 
lout  you. 

one  who 

;riud  out, 

he  pos- 

,  for  tlie 

usic,  and 

m<f  your 
ess — the 
you  will 
your  life 
■,  no  de- 
look  out 
as  in  a 
;i  wife, 
mother, 


witliout  a  child  ;  to  be  the  iubuired  of  princes,  a  moving, 
powerful  lis^ure  to  i?illuen(!e  great  men,  with  no  sdlon 
but  the  little  bare  cell  wliere  you  ])ray.  With  nu',  nil 
that  you  should  be  you  will  he.  You  have  had  n  bad, 
dark  dream;  wake,  and  come  into  the  sun  with  me. 
Once  I  wished  for  you  as  the  lover  oidy  ;  now,  by  every 
hope  I  ever  might  have  luul,  I  want  you  for  my  wife." 

lie  held  out  Ids  arms  to  her  a:id  smiled,  and  spoke 
one  or  two  low  words  which  1  could  not  hear.  1  hail 
stood  waiting  death  Jigainst  the  citadel  wall,  with  the 
chance  of  a  reprieve  hanging  between  u])lit'ted  muskets 
and  my  breast ;  but  that  susitense  was  less  than  this,  for 
1  saw  him,  not  moving,  hut  standing  there  waiting  for 
her,  the  warmth  of  his  devilish  eloquence  about  him, 
and  she  moving  toward  him. 

"  ^ly  darling,"  I  heard  him  say,  "  come,  till  death  .  .  . 
us  do  part,  and  let  no  man  put  asunder."" 

She  })aused,  and,  waking  from  the  dream,  drew  herself 
together,  as  though  something  at  lier  breast  hurt  her, 
aiul  she  repeated  his  words  like  one  dazed — " '  Let  no 
man  put  asunder ' !  " 

With  a  look  that  told  of  her  great  struggle,  she 
moved  to  a  shrine  of  the  Virgin  in  the  corner,  and,  clasp- 
in  cr  her  hands  before  her  breast  for  a  moment,  said 
something  I  could  iiot  hear,  before  she  turned  to  Dol- 
taire,  Avho  had  now  taken  another  ste])  towards  her. 
IV.  his  look  r  knew  that  he  felt  his  spell  was  broken; 
that  his  auspicious  moment  liad  passed  ;  that  now,  if  he 
won  her,  it  must  be  by  harsh  means. 

For  she  said  :  "  Monsieur  Doltaire,  you  have  defeated 
yourself.  '  Let  no  man  put  asunder'  was  my  response  to 
my  husbamrs  ^  Whom  God  hath  joined,'  when  last  I  met 
hun  face  to  face,  ^^othing  can  alter  that  while  he  lives, 
nor  yet  when  lie  dies,  for  I  have  had  such  a  sorrowful 
happiness  in  him  that   if   1  were  sure  he  were  dead  I 


SCARBOROUGH   TOWNSHIP 
PUBLIC   LIBRARY 


340 


THE  SKATS  OF  THE   MKJIITV. 


would  never  leiive  tliis  lioly  pliico— never !  lint  he  lives, 
t'uul  1  will  keep  my  vow.  Jloly  Clmrcli  has  pjirUnl  us, 
but  yet  we  ure  not  })5irteil.  Voii  say  that  to  think  of  him 
now  is  wron<^^  relk'cts  u])on  me.  I  tell  you,  monsieur, 
that  if  it  were  a  wrong  a  thousand  times  iijreater  I  would 
do  it.  To  me  there  ean  be  no  shame  in  following,  till  I 
die,  the  man  who  took  mi^  honoural)ly  for  his  wife." 

Jle  made  an  imi)atient  gesture  and  smiled  ironically. 

"  Oh,  I  care  not  what  you  say  or  thiidv,"  she  went  on. 
"  1  know  not  of  things  eanonieal  and  legal ;  the  wny 
that  1  was  married  to  him  is  valid  ii^  his  country  and 
ioi  his  people.  Bad  Catholic  you  call  nie,  alas  !  J>ut 
I  am  a  true  wife,  who,  if  she  sinned,  sinned  not  know- 
ingly, and  deserves  not  this  tyranny  aiul  shame." 

"  You  are  possessed  with  a  sad  infatuation,"  he  replied 
persuasively.  "  You  are  not  the  first  who  has  sulVered 
so.  It  will  pass,  and  leave  you  sane — leave  you  to  me. 
For  vou  are  mine  ;  wliat  von  felt  a  moment  airo  vou 
will  feel  again,  when  this  ronuintic  martyrdom  of  yours 
has  wearied  you." 

"  Monsieur  Doltaire,"  slic  said,  with  a  successful  elTort 
at  calmness,  though  1  could  see  her  trembling  too,  "it  is 
you  wlio  are  mistaken,  and  I  will  show  you  how.  But 
first:  You  have  said  often  that  I  have  uinisual  intelli- 
gence. You  have  llattered  me  in  that,  I  doubt  not,  but 
still  here  is  a  chance  to  prove  yourself  sincere.  I  shall 
pass  bv  evi;rv  wicked  means  that  vou  took  first  to  ruin 
me,  to  divert  me  to  a  dislionest  love  (though  I  know  not 
what  you  nu'ant  at  the  time),  and,  failing,  to  make  me 
vour  wife.  I  sludl  not  refer  to  this  base  means  to  reach 
me  in  this  sacred  place,  using  tlie  King's  commission  for 
such  a  purpose." 

"  I  would  use  it  Jigain,  and  do  more,  for  the  same  ends," 
he  rejoined,  with  shameless  candour. 

She  waved  her  hand  im])aliently.     "  I  pass  all  that  by. 


TllK  SKCIIKT   OF  TlIK  TAPRSTKY. 


i> 


i4t 


>iil  h(^  lives, 
1)ju'UhI  us, 
link  of  him 
,  monsieur, 
ter  I  would 
►willing,  till  I 
wife." 

I  ironiojilly. 
he  went  on. 
I ;  the  wny 
ountry  and 
jiUis !  J>ut 
not  know- 
c." 

,"  he  replied 
Ills  suiTered 
you  to  me. 
it  {i<i;o  you 
)m  of  yours 

essful  elTort 
too,  "it  id 
how.  But 
uid  intelli- 
bt  not,  but 
e.  I  shall 
rst  to  ruin 
J  know  not 
)  nuikc  me 
IS  to  reach 
mission  for 

;ame  ends," 

all  that  bv. 


You  rtliall  listen  (o  me  us  J  have  listened  to  yon,  n mem- 
berinj,'  that  wiiat  1  say  is  honest,  if  it  has  nut  your  grace 
and  elo(|ueiu'e.     You  say  that  1  will  yer  come  to  yon,  that 

1  eart!  for  vou  and  have  eared  tor  you  always,  a!ii|  that 

that  this  otlu'r~is  a  sad  infatuation.  Monsieur,  in  part 
vou  are  ri<dit.'" 

lie  came  another  step  forward,  for  h'*  th()Ui;ht  he  saw 
a  foothold  airain  ;  but  she  drew  back  to  the  chiiir,  ami 
said,  liftini^  her  hand  a.irainst  him,  "No,  no,  wait  till  1 
have  (h.)ne.  1  say  Ihat  you  are  riuht  in  i»art.  I  will  not 
deny  that,  against  my  will,  you  have  always  iidhienced 
mo;  that,  try  as  I  would,  your  presence  moved  me,  and  1 
eould  never  \)\\t  vou  out  of  mv  mind,  out  of  mv  life.  At 
first  1  did  not  understand  it,  for  I  knew  how  bad  yon  were. 
I  was  sure  you  diil  evil  because  you  loved  it;  that,  to 
gi'atifv  vourself,  vou  would  spare  no  one:  a  man  without 
pity— 1" 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  interrupted,  with  a  sour  sort  of 
smile,  "  pity  is  almost  a  foible  with  me." 

"Not  real  i»ity,"  she  answered.  "Monsieur,  I  have 
lived  \o\vx  enouii-h  to  know  what  i)itv  moves  vou.  It  is 
the  moment's  careless  whim  ;  a  [)ensive  pleasure,  a  dra- 
mati(;  tenderness.  Wholesome  pity  would  make  you  hesi- 
tate to  harm  others.     You  have  no  principles " 

"  Pardon  me,  many,"  he  urged  politely,  as  he  eyed  her 
with  admiration. 

"Ah  no,  monsieur;  habits,  not  principles,     li'our  life 

has  been  one  long  irresponsibility.     In  the  very  maturity 

of  your  powers,  you  use  them  to  win  to  yourself,  to  your 

em[)ty  heart,  a  girl  who  has  tried  to  live  according  to  the 

teach inijs  of  lier  soul  and  conscience.     AVere  there  not 

■women  elsewhere  to  whom  it  didift  matter — your  al)an- 

doned   purposes'?     Why  did  you   throw  your  shadow  on 

my  path  V     You  ai-e  not,  never  wer(^  worthy  of  a  good 

woman's  love." 
23 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


342 


THR  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHTY. 


He  liiughed  with  a  sort  of  bitterness.  "  Your  sinner 
stands  between  two  fires — "  he  sjiid.  81ie  looked  at  him 
inquiringly,  and  he  added,  "  the  punishment  lie  deserves 
and  the  punisliment  he  does  not  deserve.  But  it  is  inter- 
esting to  be  thus  ])ieked  out  upon  the  stone,  however 
harsli  the  picture.     You  said  I  intluenced  you — well?" 

"  ]\[onsieur,"  she  went  on,  "  there  were  times  when, 
listening  to  you,  I  needed  all  my  strength  to  resist.  I  have 
felt  myself  weak  and  shakini'  when  vou  came  into  the 
room.  There  was  something  in  you  that  appealed  to  me, 
I  know  not  what;  but  I  do  know  that  it  was  not  the  best 
of  me,  that  it  was  emotional,  some  strange  power  of  your 
personality — ah  yes,  I  can  acknowledge  all  now.  You 
had  great  cleverness,  gifts  that  startled  and  delighted ; 
but  yet  I  felt  always,  and  that  feeling  grew  and  grew,  that 
there  was  nothing  in  you  wholly  honest ;  that  by  artifice 
you  had  frittered  away  what  once  may  have  been  good  in 
you.  Xow,  all  goodness  in  you  was  an  accident  of  sense 
and  caprice,  not  true  morality." 

"  What  has  true  morality  to  do  with  love  of  you?  "  he 
said. 

"  Y^'ou  ask  me  hard  questions,"  she  replied.  "  This  it 
has  to  do  with  it :  We  go  from  morality  to  higher  things, 
not  from  higher  things  to  morality.  Pure  love  is  a  high 
thing  ;  yours  was  not  high.  To  have  put  my  life  in  your 
hands — ah  no,  no !  And  so  I  fought  you.  There  was 
no  question  of  yourself  and  Ivobert  Moray — none.  Him 
I  knew  to  possess  fewer  gifts,  but  I  knew  him  also  to 
be  what  you  could  never  be.  I  never  measured  him 
against  you.  What  was  his  was  all  of  me  worth  the  hav- 
ing, and  was  given  always ;  there  was  no  change.  What 
was  yours  was  given  only  when  in  your  presence,  and  then 
with  hatred  of  myself  and  you — given  to  some  baleful  fas- 
cination in  you.  For  a  time,  the  more  I  struggled  against 
it  the  more  it  grew,  for  there  was  nothing  that  could  in 


r  sinner 
d  at  liim 
deserves 
,  is  inter- 
however 
v(A\  ?  " 
es  when, 
:.    1  lijive 
into  the 
ed  to  me, 
b  the  best 
;r  of  vour 
)w.     You 
eliglited ; 
^rew,  that 
3y  artifice 
n  good  in 
t  of  sense 

you?"  he 

«  This  it 
er  things, 

is  a  high 

e  in  your 
'liere  was 
ne.  Him 
n  also  to 
ured  him 
the  hav- 
re.  What 
,  and  then 
aleful  fas- 

d  against 
t  could  iu 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TAPESTRY. 


343 


fluence  a  woman  which  you  did  not  do.  Monsieur,  if  you 
had  had  Robert  Moray's  character  and  your  own  gifts,  I 
could — monsieur,  I  could  have  worshipped  you  !  " 

Doltaire  was  in  a  kind  of  dream,  lie  was  sittinc:  now 
iu  the  high-backed  chair,  his  mouth  and  chin  in  his  hand, 
his  elbow  resting  on  the  chair-arm.  His  left  hand  grasped 
the  otlier  arm,  and  he  leaned  forward  witli  brows  bent 
and  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  intently.  It  was  a  figure  singu- 
larly absorbed,  lost  in  study  of  some  deep  theme.  Once 
his  sword  clanged  against  the  chair  as  it  slipped  a  little 
from  its  position,  and  he  started  almost  violently,  though 
the  dull  booming  of  a  cannon  in  no  wise  seemed  to  break 
the  quietness  of  the  scene.  He  was  dressed,  as  in  the 
morning,  in  plain  black,  but  now  the  Star  of  Louis  shone 
on  his  breast.  His  face  was  pale,  but  his  eyes,  with  their 
swift-shifting  lights,  lived  upon  Alixe,  devoured  her. 

She  paused  for  an  instant. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  commit — idolatry,"  he  remarked  in  a. 
low,  cynical  tone,  which  the  repressed  feeling  in  his  face 
and  the  terrible  new  earnestness  of  his  look  belied. 

She  flushed  a  little,  and  continued  :  "  Yet  all  the  time 
I  was  true  to  him,  and  what  I  felt  concerning  you  he 
knew — I  told  him  enough." 

Suddenly  there  came  into  Doltaire's  looks  and  manner 
an  astounding  change.  Both  hands  caught  tlie  chair- 
arm,  his  lips  parted  wnth  a  sort  of  snarl,  and  his  white 
teeth  showed  maliciously.  It  seemed  as  if,  all  at  once,  the 
courtier,  the  flimeur,  the  man  of  breeding,  had  gone,  and 
you  had  before  you  the  peasant,  in  a  moment's  palsy  from 
the  intensity  of  his  fury. 

"  A  thousand  hells  for  him  !  "  he  burst  out  in  the  rough 
patois  of  Poictiers,  and  got  to  his  feet.  ''  You  told  him 
all,  you  confessed  your  fluttering  fears  and  desires  to  him, 
while  you  let  me  play  upon  those  ardent  strings  of  feel- 
ing, that  you  might  save  him!     You   used  me,  Tinoir 


U4: 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


Dultciire,  son  of  a  king,  to  further  your  amour  with  a 
bourgeois  Englishman  !  And  ho  hiughed  in  his  sleeve, 
and  sootlied  away  those  dangerous  intUiences  of  the  ma- 
By  the  (lod  of  heaven,  Kohcrt  Moray  and  I  have 


gieian ! 


work  to  do!  And  you — you,  with  all  the  gifts  of  the 
perfect  courtesan " 

"  Oh,  shame  !  shame  !  "  she  said,  breaking  in. 

"  But  I  speak  the  truth.  You  berate  me,  but  you  used 
incomi)arable  gifts  to  hold  me  near  you,  and  the  same 
gifts  to  let  me  have  no  more  of  you  than  would  keep  me. 
I  thought  you  the  most  honest,  the  most  heavenly  of 
women,  and  now " 

"  Alas ! "  she  interrupted,  "  what  else  could  I  have 
done?  To  draw  the  line  between  your  constant  attention 
and  my  own  necessity  !  Ah,  I  was  but  a  young  girl ;  I  had 
no  friend  to  help  me ;  he  was  condemned  to  die  ;  I  loved 
him ;  I  did  not  believe  in  you,  not  in  ever  so  little.  If  I 
had  said,  '  Y^ou  must  not  speak  to  me  again,'  yon  would 
have  guessed  my  secret,  and  all  my  purposes  would  have 
been  defeated.  So  I  had  to  go  on  ;  nor  did  I  think  that 
it  ever  would  cause  you  aught  but  a  shock  to  your  vanity.'* 

He  laughed  hatefully.  "  My  faith,  but  it  has  shocked 
my  vanity,"  he  answered.  "  And  now  take  this  for  think- 
ing on  :  Up  to  this  point  I  have  pleaded  with  you,  used 
persuasion,  courted  you  with  a  humility  astonishing 
to  myself.  Kow  I  will  have  you  in  spite  of  all.  I  will 
break  you,  and  soothe  your  hurt  afterwards.  I  will,  by 
the  face  of  the  ^ladonna,  I  will  feed  where  this  Moray 
would  pasture,  I  will  gather  this  ripe  fruit !  " 

With  a  devilish  swiftness  he  caught  her  about  the 
waist,  and  kissed  her  again  and  again  upon  the  mouth. 

The  blood  was  pounding  in  my  veins,  and  I  would 
have  rushed  in  then  and  there,  have  ended  the  long  strife, 
and  have  dug  revenge  for  this  outrage  from  his  heart, 
but  that  I  saw  Alixe  did  not  move,  nor  make  the  least 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TAPESTRY. 


345 


r  with   a 

is  sleeve, 
'  the  ma- 
ul I  have 
ts  of  the 


you  used 

tlie  same 

keep  me. 

avenly  of 

d  I  have 

attention 
irl ;  I  had 
I  loved 
ttle.  If  I 
vou  would 
ould  have 
think  that 
\r  vanity." 
is  shocked 
for  think- 

you,  used 
stonishing 
ill.     I  will 

I  will,  by 
his  Moray 

about  the 
mouth, 
d  I  would 
long  strife, 
his  heart, 
)  the  least 


resistance.  This  struck  me  with  horror,  till,  all  at  once, 
he  let  her  go,  and  I  saw  her  face.  Jt  was  very  white  and 
still,  smooth  and  cold  as  marble.  She  seemed  five  years 
older  in  the  minute. 

"Have  you  quite  done,  monsieur?"  she  said,  with 
infinite,  quiet  scorn.  "  Do  you,  the  son  of  a  king,  find 
joy  in  kissing  lips  that  answer  nothing,  a  cheek  from 
which  the  blood  fiows  in  affright  and  shame  ?  Is  it  an 
achievement  to  feed  as  cattle  feed  ?  Li^;ten  to  me,  Mon- 
sieur Doltaire.  No,  do  not  try  to  speak  till  I  have  done, 
if  your  morality — of  manners — is  not  all  dead.  Through 
this  cowardly  act  of  yours,  the  last  vestige  of  your  power 
over  me  is  gone.  I  sometimes  think  that  with  you,  in  the 
past,  I  have  remained  true  and  virtuous  at  the  expense  of 
the  best  of  me  ;  but  now  all  that  is  over,  and  there  is  no 
temptation — I  feel  beyond  it :  by  this  hour  here,  this  hour 
of  sore  peril,  you  have  freed  me.  I  was  tempted — Heaven 
knows,  a  few  minutes  ago  I  was  tempted,  for  everything 
was  with  vou  :  but  God  has  been  with  me,  and  you  ana 
I  are  now  no  nearer  than  the  poles." 

"  You  doubt  that  I  love  you  ?  "  he  asked  in  an  altered 
voice. 

"  I  doubt  that  any  man  will  so  shame  the  woman  he 
loves,"  she  answered. 

"  What  is  insult  to-day  may  be  a  pride  to-morrow," 
was  his  quick  reply.  "  I  do  not  repent  of  it,  I  never 
will,  for  you  and  I  shall  go  to-night  from  here,  and  you 
shall  be  my  wife  ;  and  one  day,  when  this  man  is  dead, 
when  you  have  forgotten  your  bad  dream,  you  will  love 
me  as  you  can  not  love  him.  I  have  that  in  me  to  make 
you  love  me.  To  you  I  can  be  loyal,  never  drifting, 
never  wavering.  I  tell  you,  I  will  not  let  you  go.  First 
my  wife  you  shall  be,  and  after  that  I  will  win  your 
love  ;  in  spite  of  all,  mine  now,  though  it  is  shifted  for 
the  momcut.      Come,  come,  Alixe  "— -he  made  as  if  to 


L 


340 


THE  SEATS  OF  TJIE  MIGHTY. 


take  her  liiintl — "  you  Jiiul  I  will  learn  the  splenditl 
secret " 

She  drew  back  to  the  shrine  of  the  Virgin. 

"  Mother  of  (Jod  !  Mother  of  God  !  "  I  heard  her 
whisper,  and  then  she  raised  her  hand  against  him. 
**No,  no,  no,"  she  said,  with  sharp  anguish,  "do  not 
try  to  force  me  to  your  wishes — do  not ;  for  I,  at  least, 
will  never  live  to  see  it.  I  have  suffered  more  than  I 
can  bear.     I  will  end  this  shame,  I  will " 

I  had  heard  enough.  I  stepped  back  quickly,  closed 
tlie  panel,  and  went  softly  to  the  door  and  into  the  hall, 
determined  to  bring  her  out  against  Doltaire,  trusting  to 
Gabord  not  to  oppose  me. 


XXVII. 


A    SIDE-WIXD   OF    REVEXGE. 

I  KNEW  it  was  Doltaire's  life  or  mine,  and  I  shrank 
from  desecrating  this  holy  place ;  but  our  bitter  case 
w^ould  warrant  this,  and  more.  As  I  came  quickly 
through  the  hall,  and  round  the  corner  where  stood 
Gabord,  I  saw  a  soldier  talking  with  the  Mother  Su- 
perior. 

"  lie  is  not  dead  ?  "  I  heard  her  say. 

''  No,  holy  Mother,"  was  the  answer,  "  but  sorely 
wounded.  He  was  testing  the  fire-organs  for  the  rafts, 
and  one  exploded  too  soon." 

At  that  moment  the  ]\[other  turned  to  me,  and  seemed 
startled  by  my  look.     "  What  is  it  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  He  would  carry  her  off,"  I  replied. 

"  lie  shall  never  do  so,"  was  her  quick  answer.  "  Her 
father,  the  good  Seigneur,  has  been  wounded,  and  she 
must  go  to  him." 


A  SIDE-WIXI)  OF   RKVENC.R. 


347 


splendid 


card  lier 
ist  Lini. 
'  do  not 
at  least, 
e  than  I 

V,  closed 
the  hall, 
Listing  to 


I  shrank 
:'ter  case 
quickly 
re  stood 
ther  Su- 


t    sorely 
he  rafts, 

1  seemed 
ed. 

.     « Her 
and  she 


"  I  will  take  her,"  said  I  at  once,  and  1  moved  to 
open  the  door.  At  tliat  moment  I  caught  (lahord's  eye. 
Tliere  I  read  what  made  me  pause.  If  I  declared  my- 
self now  Gabord's  life  would  pay  for  his  friendship  to 
me — even  if  I  killed  Doltaire  ;  for  the  matter  would  be 
open  to  all  then  just  the  same.  I  could  not  do  that, 
for  the  man  had  done  me  kindnesses  dangerous  to  him- 
self. Besides,  he  was  a  true  soldier,  and  disgrace  itself 
would  be  to  him  as  bad  as  the  drum-head  court-martial. 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  another  course  even  as  the  per- 
turbed "  aho  "  which  followed  our  glance  fell  from  his 
puffing  lips. 

"  But  no,  holy  Mother,"  said  I,  and  I  whispered  in  her 
ear.  She  opened  the  door  and  went  in,  leaving  it  ajar. 
I  could  hear  only  a  confuvsed  murmur  of  voices,  through 
which  ran  twice,  "  Xo,  no,  monsieur,"  in  Alixe's  soft, 
clear  voice.  I  could  scarcely  restrain  myself,  and  I  am 
sure  I  should  have  gone  in,  in  spite  of  all,  had  it  not 
been  for  Gabord,  who  withstood  me. 

He  was  right,  and  as  I  turned  away  I  heard  Alixo 
cry,  "  My  father,  my  poor  father  !  " 

Then  came  Doltaire's  voice,  cold  and  angry  :  "  Good 
Mother,  this  is  a  trick." 

"  Your  Excellency  should  be  a  better  judge  of  trickery," 
she  replied  quietly.  "  Will  not  your  Excellency  leave  an 
unhappy  lady  to  the  Church's  care  ?  " 

"  If  the  Seignv3ur  is  hurt,  I  will  take  mademoiselle  to 
him,"  was  his  instant  reply. 

"  It  may  not  be,  your  Excellency,"  she  said.  "  I  will 
furnish  her  with  otiier  escort." 

"And  I,  as  Governor  of  this  province,  as  commander- 
in-chief  of  the  army,  say  that  only  with  my  escort  shall 
the  lady  reach  her  father." 

At  this  Alixe  spoke  :  "  Dear  Mere  St.  George,  do  not 
fear  for  me  ;  God  will  protect  me— 


?) 


348 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


"  And  I  also,  niademoiscllc,  with  my  life,"  interposed 
Doltaire. 

"  (Jod  will  protect  me,"  Alixc  repeated  ;  "  I  have  no 
fear.'' 

"  I  will  send  two  of  onr  Sisters  with  mademoiselle 
to  nurse  the  jxjor  Seigneur,"  said  Mere  St.  (Jeorge. 

I  am  sure  Doltaire  saw  the  move.  "  A  c^reat  kind- 
ness, holy  ^lother,"  he  said  politely,  "and  I  will  see  they 
are  well  cared  for.  We  will  set  forth  at  once.  The 
Seigneur  shall  be  brought  to  the  Intendance,  and  he  and 
his  daughter  shall  have  quarters  there." 

He  stepi)ed  towards  the  door  where  we  were.  I  fell 
back  into  position  as  he  came.  "  Gabord,"  said  he,  "  send 
your  trusted  fellow  here  to  the  General's  camp,  and  have 
him  fetch  to  the  Intendance  the  Seigneur  Duvarney, 
who  has  been  wounded.  Alive  or  dead,  ho  must  be 
^       ight,"  he  added  in  a  lower  voice. 

Then  he  turned  back  into  the  room.  As  he  did  so 
Gabord  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 

"  If  you  go,  you  put  your  neck  into  the  gin,"  said  he; 
*'  some  one  in  camp  will  know  you." 

"  I  will  not  leave  my  wife,"  I  answered  in  a  whisper. 
Thus  were  all  plans  altered  on  the  instant.  Gabord  went 
to  the  outer  door  and  called  another  soldier,  to  whom  he 
gave  this  commission. 

A  few  moments  afterwards,  Alixe,  Doltaire,  and  the 
Sisters  of  !Mercy  were  at  the  door  readv  to  start.  Dol- 
taire  turned  and  bowed  with  a  well-assumed  reverence 
to  the  Mother  Superior.  "To-night's  affairs  hero  arc 
sacred  to  ourselves,  ^lere  St.  George,"  he  said. 

She  bowed,  but  made  no  reply.  Alixe  turned  and 
kissed  her  hand.  But  as  we  stepped  forth,  the  Mother 
said  suddenly,  pointing  to  me,  "  Let  the  soldier  come  back 
in  an  hour,  and  mademoiselle's  luggage  shall  go  to  her, 
your  Excellency." 


A  STDM-WrXD  OF   REVENGE. 


349 


[itorposcd 

[  have  no 

emoiselle 
)rgo. 

uit  kind- 

see  they 

3e.      The 

id  ho  and 

0.  I  fell 
le,  "  send 
and  have 
)uvarnev, 
must   be 

le  did  so 

'  said  he ; 

whisper, 
lord  went 
whom  ho 

and  the 
rt.  Dol- 
I'cverenco 
here    arc 

■ned  and 
3  Mother 
3me  back 
3  to  her, 


Doltairo  nodded,  glancing  at  mo.  "  Surely  ho  shall 
attend  you.  Mere  St.  George,"  ho  said,  and  then  stei)ped  on 
with  Alixe,  Gabord  and  the  other  soldier  ahead,  the  two 
Sisters  behind,  and  myself  beside  these.  Going  quietly 
through  tlio  disordered  Upper  Town,  wo  came  down  Pal- 
ace Street  to  the  Intendance.  Here  Doltairo  had  kept  his 
quarters  despite  his  now  desperate  quarrel  with  liigot.  As 
we  entered  he  inquired  of  the  servant  where  15igot  was, 
and  was  told  he  was  gone  to  the  Chateau  St.  Louis.  Dol- 
tairo shrugged  a  shoulder  and  smiled — ho  knew  that 
Bigot  had  had  news  of  his  deposition  through  the  Gov- 
ernor, lie  gave  orders  for  rooms  to  be  prepared  for  the 
Seigneur  and  for  the  Sisters ;  mademoiselle  meanwhile  to 
be  taken  to  hers,  which  had,  it  appeared,  been  made  ready. 
Then  I  heard  him  ask  in  an  undertone  if  the  bishop  had 
come,  and  ho  was  answered  that  Monseigneur  was  at 
Charlesbourg,  and  could  not  bo  expected  till  the  morning. 
I  was  in  a  most  dangerous  position,  for,  though  I  had 
escaped  notice,  any  moment  might  betray  me  ;  Doltaire 
himself  might  see  through  my  disguise. 

We  all  accompanied  Alixe  to  the  door  of  her  apart- 
ments, and  there  Doltairo  with  courtesy  took  leave  of  her, 
saying  that  he  would  return  in  a  little  time  to  see  if  she 
was  comfortable,  and  to  bring  her  any  fresh  news  of  her 
father.  The  Sisters  were  given  apartments  next  her  own, 
and  they  entered  her  room  with  her,  at  her  request. 

AYhen  the  door  closed,  Doltaire  turned  to  Gabord,  and 
said,  "You  shall  come  with  me  to  bear  letters  to  General 
^lontcalm,  and  you  shall  send  one  of  these  fellows  also 
for  mo  to  General  Bougainville  at  Cap  Rouge."  Then  he 
spoke  directly  to  me,  and  said,  "  You  shall  guard  this  pas- 
sage till  morning.  No  one  but  myself  may  pass  into  this 
room  or  out  of  it,  save  the  Sisters  of  :Mercy,  on  pain  of 
death." 

I  saluted,  but  spoke  no  word. 


350 


THE  SEATS  <)E  THE   MIGHTY. 


"  You  uiidorstiind  me?"  he  repeated. 

"  Alto<ifetlier,  monsieur,"  1  answered  in  a  rough,  poas- 
antlike  voice. 

lie  turned  and  walked  in  a  leisurely  way  through  the 
passage,  and  (lisaj)])eared,  telling  (iabord  to  join  him  in  a 
moment.  As  he  left,  (Jabord  said  to  me  in  a  low  voice, 
"Get  back  to  CJeneral  Wolfe,  or  wife  and  life  will  both  be 
lost!" 

I  caught  his  hand  and  pressed  it,  and  a  minute  after- 
wards I  was  alone  before  Alixe's  door. 

An  hour  later,  knowing  Alixo  to  be  alone,  I  tapped  on 
her  door  and  entered.  As  I  did  so  she  rose  from  a  prie- 
dieu  where  she  had  been  kneeling.  Two  candles  were 
burning  on  the  mantel,  but  the  room  was  much  in 
shadow. 

"  What  is't  you  wish?"  she  asked,  approaching. 

I  had  oil  my  hat ;  I  looked  her  directly  in  the  eyes 
and  put  my  fingers  on  my  lips.  She  stared  painfully  for 
a  moment. 

"Alixe,"said  I. 

She  gave  a  gasp,  and  stood  transfixed,  as  though  she 
had  seen  a  ghost,  and  tlien  Iv.  an  instant  she  was  in  my 
arms,  sobs  shaking  her.  "  Oh,  Robert !  oh,  my  dear,  dear 
husband  ! "  she  cried  again  and  again.  I  calmed  her,  and 
presently  she  broke  into  a  whirl  of  questions.  I  told  her 
of  all  I  had  seen  at  the  cathedral  and  at  the  convent  aiid 
what  my  plans  had  been,  and  then  I  waited  for  her  an- 
swer. A  new  feeling  took  possession  of  her.  She  knew 
that  there  was  one  question  [it  my  lips  which  I  djired  not 
utter.  Slie  became  very  quiet,  and  a  sweet,  settled  firm- 
ness came  into  her  face. 

"  liobert,"  she  said,  "  you  must  go  back  to  your  army 
without  me.  I  can  not  leave  my  father  now.  Save  yourself 
alone,  and  if — and  if  you  take  the  city,  and  I  am  alive, 
we  shall  be  reunited.     If  you  do  not  take  tlie  city,  then, 


A  srOK-VVlNi     OK  HI<:VI-:X(}K. 


.-^51 


ugh,  pcas- 

irough  tlio 
I  liim  in  a 
low  voice, 
ill  both  bo 

into  after- 
tupped  on 
oni  a  prie- 
ndles  were 
much    in 

I  the  eyes 
infuily  for 


hough  she 
vas  in  my 

dear,  dear 
d  her,  and 

I  told  her 
►nvent  and 
)r  her  an- 
She  knew 

dared  not 
:tled  firm- 

^our  army 

ve  yourself 

am  alive, 

city,  then, 


whether  my  father  lives  or  dies,  I  will  come  to  you.  Of 
this  bo  sure,  that  I  shall  never  live  to  ho  the  wife  of  any 
other  num — wife  or  aught  else.  You  know  me.  You 
know  all,  you  trust  mo  and,  my  dear  husband,  my  own 
love,  we  must  part  once  more.  (Jo,  go,  and  save  yourself; 
keep  your  life  safe  for  my  sake,  and  may  CJod  in  heaven, 
may  (lod " 

Here  she  broke  off  and  started  back  from  my  embnice, 
staring  hard  a  monu-nt  over  my  shoulder ;  then  her  face 
became  deadly  pale,  and  she  fell  back  unconscious.  Sup- 
porting her,  I  turned  round,  and  there,  inside  the  door, 
with  his  back  to  it,  was  Doltaire.  There  was  a  devilish 
smile  on  his  face,  as  wicked  a  look  as  1  ever  saw  on  any 
man.  I  laid  Alixo  down  on  a  sofa  without  a  word,  and 
faced  him  ngain. 

"  As  many  coats  as  Joseph's  coat  had  colours,"  he  said. 
"  And  for  once  disguised  as  an  honest  man— well,  well ! " 

"  Beast ! "  I  hissed,  and  I  whipped  out  my  short  sword. 

"  Not  here,"  he  said,  with  a  malicious  laugh.  "  Y^ou 
forget  your  manners :  familiarity  " — ho  glanced  towards 
the  couch — "  has  bred " 

"  Coward  !  "  I  cried.     "  I  will  kill  vou  at  her  feet !  " 

"  Come,  then,"  he  answered,  and  stepped  away  from 
the  door,  drawing  his  sword,  "  since  you  will  have  it  here. 
But  if  I  kill  you,  as  I  intend " 

He  smiled  detestably,  and  motioned  towards  the  couch, 
then  turned  to  the  door  again  as  if  to  lock  it.  I  stepped 
between,  my  sword  at  guard.  At  that  the  door  opened. 
A  woman  came  in  quickly,  and  closed  it  behind  her.  She 
passed  me,  and  faced  Doltaire. 

It  was  Madame  Cournal.  She  was  most  pale,  and 
there  was  a  peculiar  wildness  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  have  deposed  Fran(;ois  Bigot ! "  she  said. 

"Stand  back,  madame;  I  have  business  with  this  fel- 
low," said  Doltaire,  waving  his  hand. 


;^V2 


TUK  SKATS  OF  THK   MKUITY. 


"  >ry  businoss  cornea  firnt,"  she  ropliod.     "  Voii you 

dare  to  depose  Fnnu;ois  lii^^ot !  " 

"  It  iiei'ds  no  diiriiif;/'  he  sjud  nonchuhuitly. 

"  Vou  sluUl  put  him  buck  in  his  phiee." 

''('(uno  to  nie  to-niorrow  mornin<^,  (U'jir  mmljime." 

"  I  tell  you  lie  must  ho  put  buck,  Monsieur  Doltiiire." 

"Onee  you  caUed  me  Tinoir,"  he  said  meaningly. 

Without  a  word  she  caught  from  her  cloak  a  daircrer 
and  struck  him  in  the  breast,  though  he  threw  up  his 
hand  and  partly  diverted  the  blow.  Without  a  cry  he  half 
swung  round,  and  sank,  face  forward,  against  the  couch 
where  Alixe  hiy. 

Jtaising  himself  feebly,  blindly,  he  caught  her  hand 
and  kissed  it;  then  he  fell  back. 

Stooping  beside  him,  I  felt  his  heart,  lie  was  alive. 
Madame  Couriud  now  knelt  beside  him,  staring  at  him  as 
in  a  kind  of  dream.  I  left  the  room  cpiickly,  and  met  the 
Sisters  of  Mercy  in  the  hall.  They  had  heard  the  noise, 
and  were  coming  to  Alixe.  I  bade  them  care  for  her. 
Passing  rapidly  through  the  corridors,  I  told  a  servant  of 
the  household  what  had  occurred,  bade  him  send  for 
Bigot,  and  then  made  for  my  own  safety.  Alixe  ^vas  safe 
for  a  time,  at  least — perhaps  forever,  thank  God  ! — from 
the  approaches  of  Monsieur  Doltaire.  As  I  sped  through 
the  streets,  I  could  not  help  but  think  of  how  he  had 
kissed  her  hand  as  he  fell,  and  I  knew  by  this  act,  at 
such  a  time,  that  in  very  truth  he  loved  her  after  his 
fashion. 

I  came  soon  to  the  St.  John's  Gate,  for  I  had  the 
countersign  from  Gabord,  and  dressed  as  I  was,  I  had  no 
difficulty  in  passing.  Outside  I  saw  a  small  cavalcade 
arriving  from  Beauport  way.  I  drew  back  and  let  it 
pass  me,  and  then  I  saw  that  it  was  a  company  of  soldiers 
bearing  the  Seigneur  Duvarney  to  the  Intendance. 

An  hour  afterwards,  having  passed  the  sentries,  I  stood 


Voil— you 


j> 


uimo. 
Voltaire." 

!vv  up  his 
!ry  lie  half 
the  couch 

her  haud 

was  alive. 

at  liiui  as 
ul  met  the 

the  noise, 
e  for  her. 
servant  of 

send  for 
:e  was  safe 
-)d  ! — from 
d  through 
w  he  had 
his  act,  at 

after  his 

[  had  the 
,  I  liad  no 
cavalcade 
md  let  it 
3f  soldiers 
ce. 
es,  I  stood 


"TO  ClIKAT  TIIK   DKVII.   Vinv 


353 


on  u  loneW  point  of  the  shori^  of  the  liowci'  Town,  iuul, 
seeirg  no  one  near,  I  slid  into  the  water.  As  I  did  so  1 
Ilea  d  a  challenge  hciiind  nie,  and  when  1  made  no  answer 
there  came  a  shot,  another,  and  another ;  for  it  was  tiioiiglit, 
I  doubt  not,  that  1  was  a  deserter.  1  was  wouiuk'd  in  tlie 
shoulder,  and  had  to  swim  with  one  arm  ;  but  though  boats 
were  put  out  from  the  shore,  I  managed  to  evade  them 
and  to  get  witbin  hail  of  our  lleet.  Challenged  there,  1 
answered  with  my  name.  A  boat  shot  (uit  from  among 
the  ships,  and  soon  1  was  hauled  into  it  by  Clark  himself; 
and  that  night  I  rested  safe  upon  the  Terror  of  France. 


XXVIII. 

"TO   CIIKAT  THE   DEVIL   YET." 

My  hurt  proved  more  serious  than  I  liad  looked  for, 
and  the  day  after  my  escape  I  was  in  a  high  fever.  Gen- 
eral Wolfe  himself,  having  heard  of  my  return,  sent  to 
inquire  after  me.  He  also  was  ill,  and  our  forces  were 
depressed  in  consequence ;  for  he  had  a  power  to  inspire 
them  not  given  to  any  other  of  our  accom})lished  generals. 
He  forbore  to  question  me  concerning  the  state  of  the 
town  and  what  I  had  seen  ;  for  which  I  was  glad.  My 
adventure  had  been  of  a  private  nature,  and  such  I 
wished  it  to  remain.  The  General  desired  me  to  come 
to  him  as  soon  as  I  was  able,  that  I  might  proceed  with 
him  above  the  town  to  reconnoitre.  But  for  many  a 
day  this  was  impossible,  for  my  wound  gave  me  much 
pain  and  I  was  confined  to  my  bed. 

Yet  we  on  tlie  Terror  of  France  served  our  good 
General,  too ;  for  one  dark  night,  when  the  wind  was 
fair,  we  piloted  the  remaining  ships  of  Admiral  Holmes's 
division  above  the  town.     This  move  was  made  on  my 


354 


THE  SEATS  OF  TIJE  iMIGHTY. 


constant  assertion  that  there  was  a  way  by  which  Quebec 
might  be  taken  from  above  ;  and  when  General  Wolfe 
made  known  my  representations  to  his  general  officers, 
they  accepted  it  as  a  last  resort ;  for  otherwise  what  ho2)e 
had  they  ?  At  ]Montmorenci  our  troops  had  been  re- 
pulsed ;  tlie  mud  ihits  of  the  Beauport  shore  and  the  St. 
Charles  lliver  were  as  good  as  an  army  against  us;  the 
Upper  Town  and  Citadel  were  practically  imjn-egnable ; 
and  for  eight  miles  west  of  the  town  to  the  cove  and 
river  pt  Cap  liouge  there  was  one  long  precipice,  broken 
in  but  one  spot ;  but  just  there,  I  was  sure,  men  could 
come  up  with  still  climbing,  as  I  had  done.  Bougainville 
came  to  Cap  Kouge  now  with  three  thousand  men,  for  he 
thought  tluit  this  was  to  be  our  point  of  attack.  Along 
the  shore  from  Cap  Rouge  to  Cape  Diamond  small  bat- 
teries were  posted,  such  as  that  of  Lancy's  at  Anse  du 
Foulon  ;  but  they  were  careless,  for  no  conjectures  might 
seem  so  wild  as  that  of  bringing  an  army  up  where  I  had 
climbed. 

"  Tut,  tut,"  said  Coneral  ^lurray,  when  he  came  to 
me  on  the  Terror  of  France,  after  having,  at  my  sug- 
gestion, gone  to  the  south  shore  opposite  Anse  du  Fou- 
lon, and  scanned  the  faint  lino  thiit  marked  the  narrow 
cleft  on  the  cliff  side — "  tut,  tut,  man,"  said  he,  "  'tis  the 
dream  of  a  cat  or  a  damned  mathematician." 

Once,  after  all  was  done,  he  said  to  me  that  cats  and 
mathematicians  were  the  only  generals. 

With  a  belligerent  pride  Clark  showed  the  way  up 
the  river  one  evening,  tlie  batteries  of  the  town  giving 
us  plunging  sliots  as  we  went,  and  ours  at  Point  Levis 
answering  gallantly.  To  me  it  was  a  good  if  most  anx- 
ious time  :  good,  in  that  I  was  having  some  sort  of  com- 
pensation for  my  own  sufferings  in  the  town  ;  anxious, 
because  no  simple  word  came  to  me  of  Alixe  or  her  father, 
and  all  the  time  we  were  pouring  death  into  the  place. 


5h  Quebec 
ral  Wolfe 
il  officers, 
wliiit  liope 
been  re- 
nd tbe  St. 
5t  us;  tbe 
)rognable ; 
cove  and 
!e,  broken 
len  could 
uguinville 
en,  for  he 
Along 
small  bat- 
Anse  du 
res  might 
I  ere  I  had 


I  came  to 
my  sug- 
du  Fou- 

le  narrow 
"  'tis  the 

cats  and 

)  way  up 
n  giving 
int  Levis 
lost  anx- 
i  of  com- 

anxious, 
n-  father, 

place. 


"TO  CHEAT  THE  DEVIL  YET." 


355 


But  this  we  knew  from  deserters,  that  Vaudreuil  was 
Governor  and  Bigot  Intendant  still ;  by  which  it  would 
seem  that,  on  the  momentous  night  when  Doltaire  was 
wounded  by  Madame  Cournal,  he  gave  back  the  govern- 
orship to  Vaudreuil  and  reinstated  Bigot.  Presentlv, 
from  an  officer  who  had  been  captured  as  he  was  setting 
free  a  lire-raft  to  run  among  the  boats  of  our  fleet,  I 
heard  that  Doltaire  had  been  confined  in  the  Intend- 
ance  from  a  wound  given  by  a  stupid  sentry.  Thus  the 
true  story  had  been  kept  from  the  public.  From  him, 
too,  I  learned  that  nothing  was  known  of  the  Seio-neur 
Duvarney  and  his  daughter;  that  they  had  suddenly 
disappeared  from  the  Intendance,  as  if  the  earth  had 
swallowed  them ;  and  that  even  Juste  Duvarney  knew 
nothing  of  them,  and  was,  in  consequence,  greatly  dis- 
tressed. 

This  officer  also  said  that  now,  when  it  might  seem  as 
if  both  the  Seigneur  and  his  daughter  were  dejid,  opinion 
had  turned  in  Alixe's  favour,  and  the  feeling  had  crept 
about,  first  among  the  common  folk  and  afterwards 
among  the  people  of  the  garrison,  that  she  had  been 
used  harshly.  This  was  due  largely,  he  thought,  to  the 
constant  advocacy  of  the  Chevalier  de  la  Darante,  whose 
nephew  had  married  Mademoiselle  Georgette  Duvarney. 
This  piece  of  news,  in  spite  of  the  uncertainty  of  Alixe's 
fate,  touched  me,  for  the  Chevalier  had  indeed  kept  his 
word  to  me. 

At  last  all  of  Admirrd  Holmes's  division  was  got 
above  the  town,  with  very  little  damage,  and  I  never 
saw  a  man  so  elated,  so  profoundly  elated  as  Clark  over 
his  share  in  the  business.  He  was  a  daredevil,  too ;  for 
the  day  that  the  last  of  tlie  division  was  taken  up  the 
river,  without  my  permission  or  the  permission  of  the 
admiral  or  any  one  else,  he  took  the  Terror  of  France 
almost  up  to    Bougainville's  earthworks   in   the  cove  at 


35G 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


Cap  Rouge  and  insolently  emptied  his  six  swivels  into 
them,  and  then  came  out  and  stood  down  the  river. 
When  I  asked  what  he  was  doing — for  I  was  now  well 
enough  to  come  on  deck — he  said  he  was  going  to  see 
how  monkeys  could  throw  nuts ;  when  1  pressed  him, 
he  said  he  had  a  will  to  hear  the  cats  in  the  eaves  ;  and 
when  I  became  severe,  he  added  ""hat  he  would  bring 
the  Terror  of  France  up  past  the  batteries  of  the  town 
in  broad  dayliglit,  swearing  that  they  could  no  more  hit 
him  than  a  woman  could  a  bird  on  a  fljigstaif.  I  did  not 
relish  this  foolish  bravado,  and  I  forbade  it ;  but  pres- 
ently I  consented,  on  condition  that  he  take  me  to  Gen- 
eral Wolfe's  camp  at  Montmorenci  first ;  for  now  I  felt 
strong  enough  to  be  again  on  active  service. 

Clark  took  the  Terror  of  France  up  the  river  in 
midday,  running  perilously  close  to  the  batteries ;  and 
though  they  pounded  at  him  petulantly,  foolishly  angry 
at  his  contemptuous  defiance,  he  ran  the  gauntlet  safely, 
and  coming  to  the  flagship,  the  Sutherland,  saluted  with 
his  six  swivels,  to  the  laughter  of  the  whole  fleet  and  his 
own  2)rofanc  joy. 

"  Mr.  Moray,"  said  General  Wolfe,  when  I  saw  him, 
racked  with  pain,  studying  a  chart  of  the  river  and 
town  which  his  chief  engineer  had  just  brought  him, 
''  show  me  here  this  passage  in  the  hillside." 

I  did  so,  tracing  the  plains  of  Maitre  Abraham,  which 
I  assured  him  would  be  good  ground  for  a  jiitched  bat- 
tle, lie  nodded  ;  then  rose,  and  walked  up  and  down  for 
a  time,  thinking.  Suddenly  he  stopped,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  me. 

"  Mr.  Moray,"  said  he,  "  it  would  seem  that  you, 
angering  La  Pompadour,  brought  down  this  war  upon 
us."  He  paused,  smiling  in  a  dry  way,  as  if  the  thought 
amused  him,  as  if,  indeed,  he  doubted  it;  but  for  that 
1  cared  not,  it  was  an  honour  I  could  easily  live  without. 


_^_:/?::!r^^.'T?A3iiT»:2ni2iiig 


wivels  into 
tlie  river, 
now  well 
)ing  to  see 
■cssed  him, 
eaves ;  and 
:)iild  bring 
the  town 
0  more  hit 
I  did  not 
but  pres- 
iie  to  G en- 
no  w  I  felt 

e  river  in 
eries ;  and 
silly  angry 
tlet  safely, 
dated  with 
eet  and  his 

[  saw  him, 

river  and 

ught   him, 

am,  which 
tched  bat- 
1  down  for 
I  fixed  his 

that  you, 

war  upon 

le  thought 

t  for  that 

without. 


"TO  CHEAT  THE  DEVIL  YET." 


357 


I  bowed  to  his  words,  and  said,  "  ^[ine  was  the  last 
straw,  sir." 

x\gain  he  nodded,  and  replied,  "  Well,  well,  you  got  us 
into  trouble;  you  must  show  us  the  way  out,"  and  he 
looked  again  at  the  passage  I  had  traced  upon  the  chart. 
''  You  will  remain  with  me  until  we  meet  our  enemy  on 
these  heights."  lie  pointed  to  the  i)hiins  of  Maitre  Abra- 
ham. Then  he  turned  away,  and  began  walking  up  and 
down  again.  "  It  is  the  last  chance !  "  he  said  to  himself 
in  a  tone  despairing  and  yet  heroic.  "Please  God  !  please 
God  ! "  he  added. 

"  You  will  speak  nothing  of  these  plans,"  he  said  to 
me  at  last,  half  mechanically.  "  We  must  make  feints  of 
landing  at  Cap  llouge — feints  of  landing  everywhere  save 
at  the  one  possible  place;  confuse  both  Bougainville  and 
Montcalm ;  tire  out  their  armies  with  watch ings  and 
want  of  sleep ;  and  then,  on  the  auspicious  night,  make 
the  great  trial." 

I  had  remained  respectfully  standing  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  him.  Now  he  suddenly  came  to  me,  and, 
pressing  my  hand,  said  quickly,  "  You  have  trouble,  jMr. 
IMoray.  I  am  sorry  for  you.  But  maybe  it  is  for  better 
things  to  come !  " 

I  thanked  him  stumblingly,  and  a  moment  later  left 
him,  to  serve  him  on  the  morrow,  and  so  on  through 
many  days,  till,  in  divers  perils,  the  camp  at  ^lontmorenci 
was  abandoned,  the  troops  were  got  aboard  the  ships,  aiul 
the  General  took  up  his  quarters  on  the  Sutherland  ;  from 
which,  one  notable  day,  I  sallied  forth  with  him  to  a  point 
at  the  south  shore  opposite  the  Anse  du  Foulon,  where  he 
saw  the  thin  crack  in  the  cliff  side.  From  tluit  moment 
instant  and  final  fttack  was  his  purpose. 

The  great  night  came,  starlit  and  serene.     The  camp- 
fires  of  two  armies  spotted  the  shores  of  the  wide  river, 
24 


858 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHT Y. 


and  the  s]iii)S  lay  like  wild  fowl  in  convoys  above  the  town 
from  where  the  arrow  of  fate  should  be  sped.  Darkness 
upon  tlie  river,  and  lirellies  u})on  the  shore.  At  Beau- 
j)()rt,  an  untirinij^  (Jeneral,  wlio  for  a  hundred  days  had 
snatched  slccj),  booted  and  spurred,  and  in  the  ebb  of  a 
losing  game,  longed  for  ids  aih)red  Candiac,  grieved  for  a 
beloved  daughter's  deatli,  sent  cheerful  messages  to  his 
aged  mother  and  to  his  wife,  and  by  the  deeper  protests 
of  his  love  foreshadowed  his  own  doom.  At  Cap  Kouge, 
a  dying  commander,  unperturbed  and  valiant,  reached  out 
a  finger  to  trace  the  last  movements  in  a  desperate  cam- 
paign of  life  that  opened  in  Flanders  at  sixteen  ;  of  which 
the  end  began  when  he  took  from  his  bosom  the  portrait 
of  his  aflianced  wife,  and  sa>d  to  his  old  schoolfellow, 
"  Give  this  to  her,  Jervis,  for  we  shall  meet  no  more." 

Then,  passing  to  the  deck,  silent  and  steady,  no  signs 
of  pain  upon  Ids  face,  so  had  the  calm  come  to  him,  as  to 
Nature  and  this  beleaguered  city,  before  the  whirlwind,  he 
looked  out  upon  the  clustered  grou})s  of  boats  filled  with 
the  flower  of  his  army,  settled  in  a  menacing  tranquillity. 
There  lay  the  Light  Infantry,  Bragg's,  Kennedy's,  Las- 
celles's,  Anstruther's  Regiment,  Fraser's  Highlanders, 
and  the  much-loved,  much-blamed,  and  impetuous  Louis- 
burg  Grenadiers.  Steady,  indomitable,  silent  as  cats, 
precise  as  mathematicians,  he  could  trust  them,  as  they 
loved  his  awkward,  pain-twisted  body  and  ugly  red  hair. 
"  Damme,  Jack,  didst  thee  ever  take  hell  in  tow  before?" 
said  a  sailor  from  the  Terror  of  France  to  his  fellow  once, 
as  the  marines  grappled  with  a  flotilla  of  French  fire-ships, 
and  dragged  them,  spitting  destruction,  clear  of  the  fleet, 
to  tlie  shore.  "  Xay,  but  Fve  been  in  tow  of  Jimmy 
Wolfe's  red  head  ;  that's  hell-fire,  lad  !"  was  the  reply. 

From  boat  to  boat  the  General's  eye  passed,  then 
shifted  to  the  ships— the  Squirrel,  the  Leostaff,  the  Sea- 
horse, and  the  rest— and  lastly  to  where    the   army  of 


"TO  CHEAT  THE  DEVIL  YET." 


359 


e  the  town 
Darkness 
At  Beuii- 
i  (liiys  Imd 
le  ebb  of  u 
ioved  for  a 
Jges  to  liis 
vY  protests 
-'ap  Koiige, 
eachetl  out 
)erate  cam- 
;  of  which 
he  portrait 
hoolfellow, 


more. 


u 


y,  no  signs 
>  him,  as  to 
irlwind,  lie 
filled  with 
ranqiiillity. 
ledy's,  Las- 
igli  landers, 
lous  Lonis- 
it  as  cats, 
m,  as  they 
y  red  hair. 
y  before?" 
ellow  once, 
1  fire-ships, 
)f  the  fleet, 
of  Jimmy 
e  rei»ly. 
ssed,  then 
ff,  the  Sea- 
3   army  of 


Bougainville  lay.  Then  there  came  towards  him  an  ofTi- 
cer,  who  said  quietly,  "  The  tide  has  turned,  sir."  For 
reply  the  (jJeneral  made  a  swift  motion  towards  the  main- 
top shrouds,  and  almost  instantly  lanterns  showed  in 
them.  In  response,  the  crowded  boats  began  to  cast 
away,  and,  immediately  descending,  the  Ceiieral  passed 
into  his  own  boat,  drew  to  the  front,  and  drifted  in  the 
current  ahead  of  his  gallant  men,  the  ships  following 
after. 

It  was  two  by  the  clock  when  the  boats  began  to  move, 
and  slowly  we  ranged  down  the  stream,  silently  steered, 
carried  by  the  current.  Xo  paddle,  no  creaking  oar- 
lock, broke  the  stillness.  I  was  in  the  next  boat  to  the 
General's,  for,  with  Clark  and  twenty-two  other  volunteers 
to  the  forlorn  hope,  I  was  to  show  the  way  up  the  heights, 
and  we  were  near  to  his  person  for  over  two  hours  that 
night.  No  moon  was  shining,  but  I  could  see  the  General 
plainly;  and  once, when  our  boats  almost  touched,  he  saw 
mi,  and  said  graciously,  "If  they  get  up,  Mr.  Moray,  you 
a"e  free  to  serve  yourself." 

My  heart  was  full  of  love  of  country  then,  and  I  an- 
swered, "  I  hope,  sir,  to  serve  you  till  your  flag  is  hoisted 
on  the  citadel." 

He  turned  to  a  young  midshipman  beside  him,  and 
said,  "  How  old  are  you,  sir?" 

"  Seventeen,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"  It  is  the  most  lasting  passion,"  he  said,  musing. 

It  seemed  to  me  then,  and  I  still  think  it,  that  the 
passion  he  meant  was  love  of  country.  A  moment  after- 
wards I  heard  him  recite  to  the  officers  about  him,  in  a 
low,  clear  tone,  some  verses  by  Mr.  Gray,  the  poet,  wdiicli 
I  had  never  then  read,  though  I  have  prized  them  since. 
Under  those  frowning  heights,  and  the  smell  from  our 
rojiring  distant  thirty-two-pounders  in  the  air,  I  heard 
him  say  : 


30il  'I'HE  SEATS  OF  THE   MTCUITY. 

"  Tho  cur  few  tolls  tho  knoll  of  parting  day  ; 
Tlio  lowing  herd  wind  slowly  o'er  tho  loa  ; 
Tho  ploughman  hoinoward  jilods  his  weary  way, 
And  loaves  tho  world  t(»  darkness  antl  to  mo." 

I  liuvo  heard  finer  voices  tliuii  his — it  was  as  tin  beside 
Doltairu's — but  sonietliing  in  it  pierced  me  that  iiiglit,  and 
I  felt  tlio  man,  the  perfect  hero,  when  he  said  : 

"  The  boast  of  hoi'aldry,  the  pomp  of  j)owor, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  tliat  wealth  e'er  gave, 
Await  alike  the  inevitable  hour — 

Tlie  paths  of  glory  load  but  to  the  grave." 

Soon  afterwards  wo  iieared  the  end  of  our  quest,  the 
tide  carrying  us  in  to  sliore ;  and  down  from  the  dark 
heights  tliere  came  a  challenge,  satisfied  by  an  officer,  who 
said  in  French  that  we  were  provision-boats  for  Mont- 
calm :  these,  we  knew,  had  been  expected  !  Then  came  the 
batteries  af  Samos.  Again  we  passed  with  the  same  ex- 
cuse, rounded  a  lieadland,  and  the  great  work  was  begun. 

The  boats  of  the  Li<i:ht  Infantry  swunsj  in  to  shore. 
Ko  sentry  challenged,  but  I  knew  that  at  the  top  Lancy's 
tents  were  set.  When  the  Light  Infantry  had  landed,  we 
twenty-four  volunteers  stood  still  for  a  moment,  and  I 
pointed  out  tho  way.  Before  we  started,  we  stooped  be- 
side a  brook  that  leaped  lightly  down  the  ravine  and 
drank  a  little  rum  and  water.  Then  I  led  the  way,  Clark 
at  one  side  of  me,  and  a  soldier  of  the  Light  Infantry  at 
the  other.  It  was  hard  climbing,  but,  following  in  our 
careful  steps  as  silently  as  they  miglit,  the  good  fellows 
came  eagerly  after.  Once  a  rock  broke  loose  and  came 
tumbling  down,  but  plunged  into  a  thicket,  where  it 
stayi  1 ;  else  it  might  have  done  for  us  entirely.  I  breathed 
freely  when  it  stopped.  Once,  too,  a  branch  cracked 
loudly,  and  we  lay  still ;  but  hearing  nothing  above,  we 
pushed  on,  and,  sweating  greatly,  came  close  to  the  top. 


way, 


s  till  beside 
:  niglit,  iind 


^llVO, 


:'  quest,  the 
n  the  dark 
oflicer,  who 

for  Morit- 
bn  came  the 
10  same  ex- 
was  beguTi. 
n  to  slioro. 
top  Lancy's 

landed,  we 
lent,  and  I 
stooped  be- 
ravine  and 
way,  Clark 
Infantry  at 
^ing  in  onr 
ood  fellows 
e  and  came 
b,  where   it 

I  breathed 
ch  cracked 
r  above,  we 
)  the  top. 


TO  CHEAT  THE  DEVIL  YET." 


361 


Here  Clark  and  I  drew  back,  for  such  honour  as  there 
might  be  in  gaining  the  heights  first  I  wislunl  to  go  to 
these  soldiers  who  had  trusted  their  lives  to  my  guidance. 
1  let  six  go  by  and  reach  the  heights,  and  then  I  drew 
myself  up.  Wo  did  not  stir  till  all  twenty-four  were  safe ; 
then  we  made  a  dash  for  the  tents  of  Lancy,  which  now 
showed  in  the  first  gray  light  of  morning.  AVe  were  dis- 
covered, and  sliots  greeted  us;  but  we  were  on  them  in- 
stantly, and  in  a  moment  I  had  the  pleasure  of  putting  a 
bullet  in  Lancy's  heel,  aiul  brought  him  down.  Our 
cheers  told  the  General  the  news,  and  soon  liundreds  of 
soldiers  were  climbing  the  hard  way  that  we  hjid  come. 

And  now,  while  an  army  climbed  to  the  hoiglits  of 
Maitre  Abraham,  Admiral  Saunders  in  the  gray  dawn 
was  bombarding  Montcalm's  encampment,  and  boats 
filled  with  marines  and  soldiers  drew  to  the  Boauport 
flats,  as  if  to  land  there ;  while  shots,  bombs,  shells,  and 
carcasses  were  hurled  from  Levis  upon  the  town,  deceiv- 
ing ^lontcalin.  At  last,  however,  suspecting,  he  rode 
towards  the  town  at  six  o'clock,  and  saw  our  scarlet 
ranks  spread  across  the  plains  between  him  and  Bou- 
gainville, and  on  the  crest,  nearer  to  him,  eying  us  in 
amazement,  the  white-coated  battalion  of  Guienne,  which 
should  the  day  before  have  occupied  the  very  ground 
held  by  Lancy.  A  slight  rain  falling  added  to  their 
gloom,  but  cheered  us.  It  gave  us  a  better  light  to 
tight  by,  for  in  the  clear  September  air,  the  bright  sun 
shining  in  our  faces,  they  would  have  had  us  at  advan- 
tage. 

In  another  hour  the  gates  of  St.  John  and  St.  Louis 
emptied  out  upon  this  battletield  a  warring  flood  of  our 
foes.  It  was  a  handsome  sight :  the  white  uniforms  of 
the  brave  regiments,  Koussillon,  La  Sarre,  Guienne,  Lan- 
guedoc.  Beam,  mixed  with  the  dark,  excitable  militia,  the 
sturdy   burghers  of   the    town,   a   band   of   courcurs  de 


302 


THE  SKATS  OF  THE  MIGRTY. 


II'! 


buis  in  tlieir  rough  Inintor's  costumo,  siiul  whooping  In- 
diaus,  painted  and  fiu-ious,  ready  to  eat  us.  At  last  liere 
was  to  be  a  test  of  ligiiting  in  open  Held,  though  tlio 
Freneh  had  in  their  wliole  army  twice  the  number  of 
our  men,  a  walknl  and  provisioned  city  behind  them, 
and  field-pieces  in  great  number  to  bring  against  us. 

But  there  was  bungling  with  them.  Vaudreuil  hung 
back  or  came  tardily  from  Ikviuport ;  Bougainville  had 
not  yet  arrived  ;  and  when  they  might  have  j)itted  twice 
our  number  against  us,  they  had  not  many  more  than  we. 
With  Bougainville  behind  us  and  Montcalm  in  front,  we 
miglit  have  been  cheeked,  though  there  was  no  man  in 
all  our  army  but  believed  that  we  should  win  the  day. 
I  could  plainly  see  Montcalm,  mounted  on  a  dark  horse, 
riding  along  the  lines  as  they  formed  against  us,  waving 
his  sword,  a  truly  gallant  figure.  He  was  answered  by  a 
roar  of  applause  and  greeting.  On  the  left  their  Indians 
and  burghers  overlapped  our  second  lino,  where  Town- 
send  with  Andierst's  and  the  Light  Infantry,  and 
C'olonel  Burton  with  the  Royal  Aniericans  and  Light 
Infantry,  guarded  our  Hank,  prepared  to  meet  Bougain- 
ville. In  vain  our  foes  tried  to  get  between  our  right 
flank  and  the  river ;  Ot way's  Regiment,  thrown  out,  de- 
feated that. 

It  was  my  hope  that  Doltaire  mis  with  Montcalm,  and 
that  we  might  meet  and  end  our  quarrel.  I  came  to 
know  afterwards  that  it  was  he  who  had  induced  Mont- 
calm to  send  the  battalion  of  Guienne  to  the  heights 
above  the  Anse  du  Foulon.  The  battalion  had  not  been 
moved  till  twenty-four  hours  after  the  order  was  given, 
or  we  should  never  have  gained  those  heights ;  stones 
rolled  from  the  cliff  would  have  destroyed  an  army ! 

We  waited,  Clark  and  I,  with  the  Louisburg  Grena- 
diers while  they  formed.  We  made  no  noise,  but  stood 
steady  and  still,  the  bagpipes  of  the  Highlanders  shrilly 


"TO  CIIKAT  Tin-:  DKVIL  YF/IV 


303 


oopiiig  In- 
Vt  Jjist  liere 
lough  tlio 
11  umber  of 
ind  them, 
st  us. 

reuil  buns: 
Hville  luid 
it  ted  twice 
e  tlitiu  we. 

I  front,  we 
10  m;iu  in 

II  the  day. 
hirk  liorse, 
us,  waving 
vered  by  a 
jir  Indians 
3re  Town- 
'itry,  and 
md  Lifrht 
''  Bougain- 

our  riglit 
'n  out,  de- 

tcalm,  and 
came  to 
3ed  Mont- 
le  lieights 
1  not  been 
vas  given, 
ts ;  stones 
my! 

'g  Grena- 
but  stood 
)rs  shrilly 


challenging.  At  eight  o'clock  sharpshooters  began  firing 
on  us  from  the  left,  and  our  skirmisliers  were  tiirown  out 
to  hold  tli(!iu  in  clieck,  or  drive  them  from  the  houses 
where  they  slieltered  and  galled  TownseiKTs  men.  Tiieir 
field-pieces  opened  on  us,  too,  and  yet  we  did  nothing,  but 
at  nine  o'clock,  being  ordered,  we  lay  down  and  waited 
still.  There  was  no  restk'ssness,  no  anxiety,  no  show  of 
doubt,  for  these  men  of  ours  were  old  lighters,  and  they 
trusted  their  leaders.  From  bu,  les,  trees,  coverts,  and 
fields  of  grain  there  came  that  constant  hail  of  fire, 
and  there  fell  ujion  our  ranks  a  doggedness,  a  quiet 
anger,  which  grew  into  a  grisly  jmtieiice.  The  only 
pleasure  we  had  in  two  long  hours  was  in  watching  our 
two  brass  six-pounders  play  upon  the  irregular  ranks  of 
our  foes,  making  confusion,  and  Townsend  drive  back  a 
detachment  of  cavalry  from  Cap  Rouge,  which  sought  to 
break  our  left  flank  and  reach  Montcalm. 

We  had  seen  the  stars  go  down,  the  cold,  mottled 
liirht  of  dawn  break  over  the  battered  citv  and  the 
lieights  of  Cliarlesbourg ;  we  had  watched  the  sun  come 
np,  and  then  steal  away  behind  the  slow-travelling  clouds 
and  hanging  mist ;  we  had  looked  across  over  unreaped 
cornfields  and  the  dull,  slovenly  St.  Charles,  knowing 
that  endless  leagues  of  country,  north  and  south,  east 
and  west,  lay  in  the  balance  for  the  last  time.  I  be- 
lieved that  this  day  would  see  the  last  of  the  strife 
between  Enghind  and  France  for  dominion  here;  of  La 
Pompadour's  spite  which  I  had  roused  to  action  against 
my  country;  of  the  struggle  between  Doltaire  and  my- 
self. 

The  i)ni)lic  stake  was  worthy  of  our  army — wortliy  of 
the  dauntless  soldier  who  had  be.irged  his  physicians  to 
patch  him  up  long  enough  to  fight  this  fight,  whereon 
he  staked  reputation,  life,  all  that  a  miin  loves  in  the 
world  ;   the  private  stake  was  more  than  worthy  of  my 


3r4 


THE  SKATS  OF  TUK   MKJIITY. 


long  su (Tarings.  I  tlionght  tliut  Moiitctilm  would  have 
wiiitt'd  for  \'jiu(lr(Miil,  but  no.  At  Uni  o'clock  his  three 
coluuiurf  ciiiuc  down  u[)()n  us  briskly,  nuiking  ji  wild 
rattle;  two  columns  moving  upon  our  right  and  one 
upon  our  left,  liring  obli(pu>ly  and  constantly  as  they 
marched.  Then  came  the  (lomnuind  to  rise,  and  we 
stood  up  and  waited,  our  muskets  loaded  with  an  extra 
ball.  1  could  feel  the  stern  nudice  in  our  ranks,  as  we 
stood  there  and  took,  without  returning  a  shot,  that 
damnable  lire.  Minute  after  minute  passed;  then  came 
the  sharp  conunand  to  advance.  We  did  so,  and  again 
halted,  and  yet  no  shot  came  from  us.  We  stood  there 
inactive,  a  long  palisade  of  red. 

At  last  I  saw  our  CJeneral  raise  his  sword,  a  command 
rang  down  the  long  line  of  battle,  and,  like  one  terrible 
cannon-shot,  our  muskets  sang  together  with  as  perfect  a 
precision  as  on  a  private  field  of  exercise.  Then,  waiting 
for  the  smoke  to  clear  a  little,  another  volley  came  with 
almost  the  same  ])recision  ;  after  whicli  the  firing  came 
in  clioppy  waves  of  sound,  and  again  in  a  })ersistent  clat- 
terinjr.  Then  a  li^dit  breeze  lifted  the  smoke  and  mist 
well  away,  and  a  wayward  sunlight  showed  us  our  foe, 
like  a  long  white  wave  retreating  from  a  rocky  shore, 
bending,  crumpling,  breaking,  and,  in  a  hundiod  little 
billows,  fleeing  seaward. 

Thus  cliecked,  confounded,  the  French  army  trem- 
bled and  fell  back.  Then  I  heard  the  order  to  charge, 
and  from  nearly  four  thousand  throats  there  came 
for  the  first  time  our  exultant  British  cheer,  and  higli 
over  all  ratig  the  slogan  of  Fraser's  Highlanders.  To 
my  left  I  saw  the  flashing  broadswords  of  the  clansmen, 
ahead  of  all  the  rest.  '^J'hose  sickles  of  death  clove 
through  and  broke  the  battalions  of  La  Sarre,  and  Las- 
celles  scattered  the  soldiers  of  Languedoc  into  flying 
columns.     We  on  the  righi:,  led  by  Wolfe,  charged  the 


"TO  CI  IK  AT  TIIH   DKVII.   Yirr." 


3C5 


^'oiild  Imvo 
^  Ins  tliroo 
"^'  a  Mild 
t  uiid   Olio 
Jy  as    thoy 
,  and    wo 
1>  an  extra 
^nks,  as  wo 
f^liot,  tliat 
then  camo 
and  a<,^ain 
tood  there 

command 
le  terrible 

perfect  a 
n,  waiting 

ame  with 
ring  came 
stent  claL- 

and  mist 
3  our  foe, 
ky  shore, 
[icd  little 

my  trem- 
;o  cliarge, 
3re  came 
Eind  higli 
ers.  To 
ilansmen, 
ith  clove 
and  Las- 
to  flying 
rged  the 


desperate  and  valiant  men  of  Koussillon  and  <-r,ienno 
and  the  impetuous  shar])slu)()ters  of  tiie  militia.  As  wo 
came  on  I  ol)served  the  (Jeneral  sway  and  pusii  forward 
again,  and  then  1  lost  sight  of  liim,  for  1  saw  what 
gave  the  battle  a  new  interest  to  me  :  Doltaire,  cool  and 
deliberate,  animating  and  encouraging  the  French  troops. 

I  moved  in  a  shaking  hedge  of  bayonets,  keeping  my 
eye  upon  him  ;  atid  presently  there  was  a  hand-to-hand 
inelve^  out  of  which  I  fought  to  reach  him.  I  was 
uuiking  for  him,  where  he  now  sought  to  rally  the  re- 
treating columns,  when  1  noticed,  iu)t  far  away,  (Jaboi'd, 
mounted,  and  attacked  by  three  grenadiers.  Jjooking 
back  now,  I  see  him,  with  his  sabre  cutting  right  and 
left,  as  he  drove  Ids  horse  at  one  grenadier,  who  slipped 
and  fell  on  the  slippery  ground,  while  the  horse  rode  on 
him,  battering  him.  Obli(pu;ly  down  swept  the  sabre,  and 
drove  through  the  clieek  and  chin  of  one  foe  ;  another 
sweep,  and  the  bayonet  of  the  other  was  struck  aside ; 
and  another,  which  was  turned  aside  as  Gabord's  horse 
came  down,  bayoneted  by  the  fallen  grenadier.  But 
(labord  was  on  his  feet  again,  roaring  like  a  bull,  with 
a  wild  grin  on  his  face,  as  ho  partly  struck  aside  the 
bayonet  of  the  last  grenadier.  It  caught  him  in  the 
flesh  of  the  left  side.  He  grasped  the  musket-ba  rel, 
and  swung  his  sabre  with  fierce  precision.  The  man's 
head  dropped  back  like  the  lid  of  a  pot,  and  he  tum- 
bled into  a  heap  of  the  faded  golden-rod  flower  which 
spattered  the  field. 

At  tliis  moment  I  saw  Juste  Duvarney  making 
towards  me,  hatred  and  deadly  purjiose  in  liis  eyes.  I 
had  will  enough  to  meet  liim,  and  to  kill  him  too,  yet 
I  could  not  help  but  tliink  of  Alixe.  Gabord  saw  him 
also,  ami,  being  nearer,  made  for  me  as  wtII.  For  that 
act  I  cherish  his  memory.  The  thouglit  was  worthy  of 
a  gentleman  of  breeding ;  he  had  the  true  thing  in  his 


:m\ 


Till-:   SKATS   OV   THK    MKillTY. 


lu'jirt.     lie  would  sjivo  iis — two  hrotliers — from  figliting, 
by  li«;litiiii;  iiic  liimsi'lf ! 

lit'  rt'jiclitMl  rue  (ii'si,  jind  with  jin  "  An  diiihlo  !"  iimdo 
a  stroko  jit  inc.  It  wjis  ji  nmtter  of  sword  mid  subre  now. 
Chirk  nu'l  Justo  Unvjirney's  rnsh  ;  und  there  wo  were, 
at  jis  lliu'  a  ^'aine  of  i-ross- pur  poses  as  yon  can  thiidv  : 
Clark  hnn;^^ci'in;(  for  (Jahord\s  life  ((Jal)ord  liad  once  been 
his  jailer  too),  and  .Instc  Duvarncy  for  mine;  the  battle 
faring  on  aiicad  of  us.  Soon  Iht^  two  were  clean  cut 
oir  from  the  French  army,  and  must  light  to  the  death 
or  surrender. 

.luste  Duvarncy  spoke  oidy  once,  and  tlien  it  was  but 
the  rancorous  word  "  Uenegade  !  "  nor  did  I  speak  at 
all;  but  Clark  was  blasphemous,  and  Cabord,  bleeding, 
fought  with  a  sputtering  relish. 

"Fair  light  and  fowl  for  S])itting,"  he  cried,  "do 
home  to  heaven,  dickey-bird  !  " 

Hetwecu  ])h rases  of  this  kind  we  cut  and  tlirnst  for 
life,  an  odd  sort  of  ligbting.  I  fought  with  a  desj)erate 
alortnoss,  and  presently  my  sword  passed  through  his 
body,  drew  out,  and  he  shivered — fell — where  he  stood, 
rolla])sing  suddeidy  like  a  bag.  I  knelt  beside  him  and 
lifti'd  up  his  head.     His  eyes  were  glazing  fast. 

"  dabord  !  Cabord  !  "  I  called,  grief-stricken,  for  that 
work  was  the  worst  I  ever  did  in  this  world. 

He  started,  stared,  and  fumbled  at  his  waistcoat.  I 
quickly  put  my  hand  in,  and  drew  out — one  of  Mathilde's 
wooden  crosses ! 

"  To  clieat — the  devil — yet — alio  !  "  he  whispered, 
kissed  the  cross,  and  so  was  done  with  life. 

When  I  turned  from  him,  Clark  stood  alone  beside 
me.  Dazed  as  I  was,  I  did  not  at  first  grasp  the  signifi- 
cance of  that  fa(!t.  I  looked  towards  the  town,  and  saw 
the  French  armv  hustlinc:  into  the  St.  Louis  (Jate;  saw 
the  Highlanders  charging  the  bushes  at    the    Cote  Ste. 


5^ 

i 


••MASTKll   DKVIL"   DOLTAIUH. 


;](;7 


I  nglitin<r, 

t'  !  "  MlJUlo 

N'lbrc  How. 
w'i)  Were, 
ail  tliiiilv  : 
oiuH'  Ijcen 
llie  hjittlo 

till!  death 


OeFieviovo,  where  the  hnivo  Canadians  made  tlieir  hist 
8tand  ;  saw,  not  lifly  feet  away,  tlie  nobU'st  soldier  of 
our  time,  even  (ieneral  Wolfe,  (h-ad  in  the  urms  of  Mr. 
Henderson,  a  voliinleer  in  the  Twenty-secjond  ;  und  then, 
almost  at  my  feet,  stretehcd  out  as  1  had  seen  him  lie 
in  the  I'alace  courtyard  two  years  before,  1  beheld  J usto 
Duvarney. 

lint  now  lie  was  beyond  all  friendship  or  recouciliu- 
tioii — forever  I 


it  was  hut 
speak  at 
bh^eding, 

td.     "Go 

fhrnst  for 

desj)erate 

rongh  Ids 

he  stood, 

him  and 

,  for  that 

?tcoat.     I 
lathilde's 

hispered, 

le  beside 
e  signili- 
and  saw 
ate  ;  saw 
Jote  Ste. 


WIX. 


(( 


?i 


MASTKK    ni:VIL       DOLTAIUE. 


TilK  bells  of  some  shattered  church  were  calling  to 
vespers,  the  sun  was  sinking  behind  tlie  flaming  autumn 
woods,  as  once  more  1  entered  the  St.  Louis  (iate,  with 
the  grenadiers  and  a  detachment  of  artillery,  the  British 
colours  hoisted  on  a  gun-carriage.  Till  this  hour  I  had 
ever  entered  and  left  this  town  a  ca])tive,  a  price  set 
on  my  head,  and  in  the  very  street  where  I  now  walked 
I  had  gone  with  a  rope  round  my  neck,  abused  and 
maltreated.  I  saw  our  flag  re])lacc  the  golden  lilies  of 
France  on  tlie  citadel  where  Doltaire  had  baited  me, 
and  at  the  top  of  Mountain  Street,  near  to  the  bisho])'s 
palace,  our  colours  also  flew. 

Every  step  I  took  was  familiar,  yet  unfamiliar  too. 
It  was  a  disfigured  town,  where  a  hungry,  distracted 
people  huddled  among  ruins  and  begged  for  mercy  and 
for  food,  nor  found  time  in  the  general  overwhelming 
to  think  of  the  gallant  ^[ontcalm,  lying  in  his  shell- 
made  grave  at  the  chapel  of  the  Ursulines,  not  flfty 
steps  from  where  ^  had  looked  through  the  tapestry  on 
Alixe  and  Doltaire.  The  convent  was  almost  deserted 
now,  and  as  I  passed  it,  on  my  way  to  the  cathedral,  1 


368 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   :\IIGHTY. 


took  off  my  luit ;  for  how  knew  I  but  that  she  I  loved 
best  hiy  there  too,  as  truly  a  heroine  as  the  admirable 
^loiitcalm  was  hero!  A  solitary  bell  was  elann^ins:  on  the 
chapel  as  I  went  by,  and  I  saw  three  nuns  steal  past  me 
with  bowed  heads.  1  longed  to  ask  them  of  Alixe,  for 
I  felt  sure  that  the  Chureli  knew  where  she  was,  living 
or  dead,  though  none  of  all  I  asked  knew  aught  of  her, 
not  even  the  Clievalier  de  la  Darante,  who  had  come 
to  our  camp  the  night  before,  accompanied  by  Monsieur 
Joannes,  the  town  mjijor,  witli  terms  of  surrender. 

I  came  to  the  chui'cli  of  the  Recollets  as  I  wandered ; 
for  now,  for  a  little  time,  I  seemed  bewildered  and  in- 
capable, lost  in  a  maze  of  dreadful  imaginings.  I  entered 
the  door  of  the  church,  and  stumbled  upon  a  body. 
Hearing  footsteps  ahead  in  the  dusk,  I  passed  up  the 
aisle,  and  came  upon  a  pile  of  debris.  Looking  up,  I 
could  see  the  stars  shining  through  a  hole  in  the  roof. 
Hearing  a  noise  beyond,  I  v;ent  on,  and  there,  seated  on 
the  high  altar,  was  the  dwarf  who  had  snatched  the  cup 
of  rum  out  of  the  fire  the  night  that  Mathilde  had  given 
the  crosses  to  the  revellers.  He  gave  a  low,  wild  laugh, 
and  hu2:i2:ed  a  bottle  to  his  breast.  Almost  at  his  feet, 
half  naked,  with  her  face  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  altar, 
her  feet  touciiiug  the  altar  itself,  was  the  girl — his  sister 
— who  had  ke})t  her  drunken  lover  from  assaulting  him. 
The  girl  was  dead — there  was  a  knife- wound  in  her  breast. 
8iok  at  <\m  sight,  I  left  the  place  and  went  on,  almost 
mechanically,  to  Voban's  house.  It  was  level  with  the 
ground,  a  crum])led  heap  of  ruins.  I  passed  J^ancy's  house, 
in  front  of  which  I  had  fought  with  Gabord ;  it,  too,  was 
broken  to  pieces. 

As  1  turned  away  I  heard  a  loud  noise  as  of  an  ex- 
plosion,  and  I  supposed  it  to  be  some  mtigazine.  I 
thought  of  it  no  more  at  the  time.  Voban  must  be 
found  ;  that  was  more  important.     I  must  know  of  Alixe 


"MASTER  DEVIL"  DOLTAIRE. 


309 


he  I  loved 

admirable 

:ing  on  the 

il  past  me 

Alixe,  for 

was,  living 

[lit  of  her, 

had  come 

Monsienr 

ler. 

wandered ; 
d  and  in- 

I  entered 
m  a  body. 
m1  up  the 
ing  up,  I 

the  roof, 
seated  on 
}d  the  cup 
had  given 
'ild  laugh, 
'>  his  feet, 
the  altar, 
-his  sister 
'ting  him. 
ler  breast. 
>n,  almost 
with  the 
y's  house, 
,  too,  was 

of  an  ex- 

izine.      1 

must  be 

of  Alixe 


first,  and  I  felt  sure  that  if  any  one  guessed  her  where- 
abouts it  would  be  he  :  she  would  hrve  told  him  where 
she  was  going,  if  she  had  fled  ;  if  she  were  dead,  wlio 
so  likely  to  know  as  this  secret,  elusive,  vengeful  watcher  V 
Of  Doltaire  I  had  heard  nothing  ;  I  would  seek  him 
out  when  I  knew  of  Alixe.  lie  could  not  escape  me  in 
this  walled  town.  I  passed  on  for  a  time  without  direc- 
tion, for  I  seemed  not  to  know  where  I  might  find  the 
barber.  Our  sentries  already  patrolled  the  streets,  and 
our  bugles  were  calling  on  the  heights,  with  answering 
calls  from  the  fleet  in  the  basin.  Night  came  down 
quickly,  the  stars  shone  out  in  the  perfect  blue,  and,  as  I 
walked  along,  broken  walls,  shattered  houses,  solitary  pil- 
lars, looked  mystically  strange.  It  was  painfully  quiet,  as 
if  a  beaten  people  had  crawled  away  into  the  holes  our  shot 
and  shell  had  made,  to  hide  their  misery.  Now  and 
again  a  gaunt  face  looked  out  from  a  hiding-place,  and 
drew  back  again  in  fear  at  sight  of  me.  Once  a  drunken 
woman  spat  at  me  and  cursed  me ;  once  I  was  fired  at ; 
and  many  times  from  dark  corners  I  heard  voices  crying, 
"  Sauvez-moi — ah^  sauvez-riioi^  hon  TJieu!^^  Once  I  stood 
for  many  minutes  and  watched  our  soldiers  giving  bis- 
cuits and  their  own  share  of  rum  to  homeless  French 
peasants  hovering  round  the  smouldering  ruins  of  a  house 
which  carcasses  had  destroyed. 

And  now  my  wits  came  back  to  me,  my  purposes,  the 
power  to  act,  which  for  a  couple  of  hours  had  seemed  to 
be  in  abeyance.  I  hurried  through  narrow  streets  to  the 
cathedral.  There  it  stood,  a  shattered  mass,  its  sides  all 
broken,  its  roof  gone,  its  tall  octagonal  tower  alone  sub- 
stantial Mud  unchanged.  Coming  to  its  rear,  I  found  Ba- 
bette's  little  house,  with  open  door,  and  I  went  in.  The 
old  irraiulfather  sat  in  his  corner,  with  a  lighted  candle 
on  the  table  near  him,  across  his  knees  Jean's  coat  that  I 
had  worn.     He  only  babbled  nonsense  to  my  questioning. 


370 


THE   SEATS   OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


and,  Jifter  calling  aloud  to  T^abette  and  getting  no  reply,  I 
started  for  the  Intendance. 

I  had  scarcely  left  the  honse  when  I  saw  some  French 
peasants  coming  towards  me  with  a  litter.  A  woman 
walking  behind  the  litter  carric^d  a  lantern,  and  one  of 
our  soldiers  of  artillery  attended  and  directed.  I  ran  for- 
ward, and  discovered  Voban,  mortally  hurt.  Tlie  woman 
gave  a  cry,  and  spoke  my  name  in  a  kind  of  surprise  and 
relief;  and  the  soldier,  recognising  me,  saluted.  I  sent 
liim  for  a  surgeon,  and  came  on  with  the  hurt  man  to  the 
little  house.  Soon  I  was  alone  with  him  save  for  Babette, 
and  I  sent  her  for  a  priest.  As  soon  as  I  had  seen  Voban 
I  guessed  what  had  happened :  he  had  tried  for  his  re- 
venge at  last.  After  a  little  time  he  knew  me,  but  at  first 
he  could  not  speak. 

"  What  has  happened — the  palace?"  said  I. 

He  nodded. 

"  You  blew  it  up — with  Bigot  ?  "  I  asked. 

His  reply  was  a  whisper,  and  his  face  twitched  with 
pain  :  "  Kot — with  Bigot." 

I  gave  him  some  cordial,  which  he  was  inclined  to  re- 
fuse. It  revived  him,  but  I  saw  he  could  live  only  a  few 
hours.  Presently  he  made  an  effort.  "  I  will  tell  you," 
he  whispered. 

*'  Tell  me  first  of  mv  wife,"  said  I.  "  Is  she  alive  ? — is 
she  alive  ?  " 

If  a  smile  could  have  been  upon  his  lips  then,  I  saw 
one  there — good  Voban  !  I  put  my  ear  down,  and  my 
heart  almost  stopped  beating,  until  I  heard  him  say,  "  Find 
Mathilde." 

"Where?"  asked  I. 

"In  the  Valdoche  Hills,"  he  answered,  "where  the 
Gray  Monk  lives — by  the  Tall  Calvary." 

He  gasped  with  pain.  I  let  him  rest  awhile,  and  eased 
the  bandages  on  him,  and  at  last  he  told  his  story : 


"MASTER  DEVIL"   DOLTATRE. 


371 


no  reply,  I 

me  Frencli 
A  woman 
tnd  one  of 
I  ran  for- 
'lie  woman 
irprise  and 
d.  I  sent 
nan  to  the 
)r  Babette, 
?en  V^oban 
for  his  re- 
but at  first 


(( 


je  good 


ched  with 

ned  to  re- 
)nly  a  few 
tell  you," 


alive  ? — i 


IS 


len,  I  saw 
,  and  my 
ly,  "  Find 


diere  the 
md  eased 


L  to  be  gone  soon.  For  two  years  I  have  wait  for 
:imeto  kill  him — Bigot — to  send  him  and  his  pal- 
ace to  liell.  I  can  not  tell  you  how  I  work  to  do  it.  It  is  no 
matter — no.  i^'roni  an  old  cellar  I  mine,  and  at  last  1  get 
the  powder  lay  beneath  him — his  palace.  So.  But  he 
does  not  come  to  the  palace  much  this  many  months,  and 
Madame  Cournal  is  always  with  him,  and  it  is  liard  to  do 
the  thing  in  other  ways.  But  1  laugh  when  the  English 
come  in  the  town,  and  when  I  see  Bigot  fly  to  his  palace 
alone  to  get  his  treasure-chest  I  think  it  is  my  time.  So 
I  ask  the  valet,  and  he  say  he  is  in  the  private  room  that 
lead  to  the  treasure-place.  Then  I  come  back  quick  to 
the  secret  spot  and  fire  my  mine.  In  ten  minutes  all  will 
be  done.  I  go  at  once  to  his  room  again,  alone.  I  pass 
through  the  one  room,  and  come  to  the  other.  It  is  a 
room  with  one  small  barred  window.  If  he  is  there,  I  will 
say  a  word  to  him  that  I  have  wait  long  to  say,  then  shut 
the  door  on  us  both — for  I  am  sick  of  Tfe — and  watch 
him  and  laugh  at  him  till  the  end  comes.  If  he  is  in  the 
other  room,  then  I  have  a  way  as  sure " 

He  paused,  exhausted,  and  I  waited  till  he  could  again 
go  on.  At  last  he  made  a  great  elfort,  and  continued  :  "  I 
go  back  to  the  first  room,  and  he  is  not  there.  I  pass  soft, 
to  the  treasure-room,  and  I  see  him  kneel  beside  a  chest, 
looking  in.  His  back  is  to  me.  I  hear  him  laugh  to  him- 
self. I  shut  the  door,  turn  the  key,  go  to  the  window  and 
throw  it  out,  and  look  at  him  again.  But  now  he  stand 
and  turn  to  me,  and  then  I  see — I  see  it  is  not  Bigot,  but 
M'sicu'  Doltaire! 

"  I  am  sick  when  I  see  that,  and  at  first  I  can  not 
speak,  my  tongue  stick  in  my  mouth  so  dry.  '  Has  Vo- 
ban  turn  robber?'  m'sieu' say.  I  put  out  my  hand  and 
try  to  speak  again — but  no.  '  What  did  you  throw 
from  the  window  ? '  he  ask.  '  And  what's  the  matter, 
my  Vobau?'     'My  God,'  I  say  at  him  now,  'I  thought 


372 


THE  SEATS  OP  THE   MICiIITY. 


yon   are    Bigot!'     I   point  to   the   floor.      'Powder!'  I 
wliispor. 

"  His  eyes  go  like  fire  so  terrible  ;  lie  look  to  the  Avindow, 
take  a  qnick,  angry  ste])  to  me,  bnt  stand  still.  Tlien  he 
jioint  to  the  window.  '  Tiie  key,  Voban?  '  he  say;  and  I 
answer,  '  Yes.'  lie  get  pale  ;  then  he  go  and  try  the  door, 
look  close  at  the  walls,  try  them — qnick,  qnick,  stop,  feel 
for  a  panel,  then  try  again,  stand  still,  and  lean  against 
the  table.  It  is  no  nse  to  call ;  no  one  can  hear,  for  it  is 
all  roar  ontside,  and  these  walls  are  solid  and  very  thick. 

"  '  How  long?  '  he  say,  and  take  out  his  watch.  '  Five 
minutes — maybe,'  I  answer.  He  pnt  his  watch  on  the  table, 
and  sit  down  on  a  bench  by  it,  and  for  a  little  minnte  he 
do  not  speak,  bnt  look  at  me  close,  and  not  angry,  as  you 
would  think.  '  Voban,'  he  say  in  a  low  voice,  '  Bigot  was  a 
thief.'  He  point  to  the  chest.  '  lie  stole  from  the  King 
— my  father.  He  stole  your  ^Mathilde  from  you!  He 
should  have  died.  We  have  both  been  blunderers,  Voban, 
blunderers,'  he  say;  'things  have  gone  wrong  with  us. 
We  have  lost  all.'  There  is  little  time.  '  Tell  me  one 
thing,'  he  go  on:  'is  Mademoiselle  Duvarney  safe — do 
you  know  ? '  I  tell  him  yes,  and  he  smile,  and  take  from 
his  pocket  something,  and  lay  it  against  his  lips,  and  then 
put  it  back  in  his  breast. 

'"  You  are  not  afraid  to  die,  Voban?'  he  ask.  I  an- 
swer no.  'Shake  hands  with  me,  my  friend,'  he  speak, 
and  I  do  so  that.  '  Ah,  pardon,  pardon,  m'sieu','  I  say. 
'  Xo,  no,  Vobiin  ;  it  was  to  be,'  he  answer.  '  We  shall 
meet  again,  comrade — eh,  if  we  can?'  he  speak  on,  and 
he  turn  away  from  me  and  look  to  the  sky  tlirough  the 
window.  Then  he  look  at  his  watch,  and  get  to  his  feet, 
and  stand  there  still.  I  kiss  my  crucifix.  He  reach  out 
and  touch  it,  and  bring  his  fingers  to  his  lips.  '  Who  can 
tell — perhaps — perhaps  ! '  he  say.  For  a  little  minute — 
ah,  it  seem  like  a  year,  and  it  is  so  still,  so  still — he  stand 


Powder!'  I 

the  window, 
i.     ^J1ien  he 

say ;  and  I 
ry  the  door, 
k,  stop,  feel 
eaii  against 
3ar,  for  it  is 

very  thick, 
teh.  '  Five 
)n  the  table, 

minute  he 
igry,  as  you 
Bigot  was  a 
n  the  Kin  Of 

you  !  He 
ers,  Voban, 
ST  witli  us. 
'ell  me  one 
y  safe — do 
.  take  from 
s,  and  then 

isk.     I  an- 

he  speak. 

Hi','  I  say. 

'We  shall 

ik  on,  and 

irough  the 

to  his  feet, 

reach  out 

'  Who  can 

minute — 

—he  stand 


"WHERE  ALL  THE  LOVERS  CAN  HIDE."       373 

there,  and  then  he  put  his  hand  over  the  watch,  lift  it  up, 
and  shut  his  eyes,  as  if  time  is  all  done.  AVhile  you  can 
count  ten  it  is  so,  and  then  the  great  crash  come ! " 

For  a  long  time  Voban  lay  silent  again.  I  gave  him 
more  cordial,  and  he  revived  and  ended  his  tale.  "  I  am  a 
blunderer,  as  m'sieu'  say,"  he  went  on, "  for  he  is  killed,  not 
Bigot  and  me,  and  only  a  little  part  of  the  palace  go  to 
pieces.  And  so  they  fetch  me  here,  and  I  wish — my  God 
in  Heaven,  I  wish  I  go  with  M'sieu'  Doltaire  !"  But  he 
followed  him  a  little  later. 

Two  hours  afterwards  I  went  to  the  Intendance,  and 
there  I  found  that  the  body  of  my  enemy  had  been  placed 
in  the  room  where  I  had  last  seen  him  with  Alixe.  lie 
lay  on  the  same  couch  where  she  had  lain.  The  flag  of 
France  covered  his  broken  body,  but  his  face  was  un- 
touched— as  it  had  been  in  life,  haunting,  fascinating, 
though  the  shifting  lights  were  gone,  the  fine  eyes  closed. 
A  noole  peace  hid  all  that  was  sardonic ;  not  even  Gabord 
would  now  have  called  him  "  Master  Devil."  I  covered 
up  his  face  and  left  him  there— peasant  and  prince- 
candles  burning  at  his  head  and  feet,  and  the  star  of  Louis 
on  his  shattered  breast ;  and  1  saw  him  no  more. 

All  that  night  I  walked  the  ramparts,  thinking,  re- 
membering, hoping,  waiting  for  the  morning;  and  when 
I  saw  the  light  break  over  those  far  eastern  parishes, 
wasted  by  fire  and  sword,  I  set  out  on  a  journey  to  the 
Valdoche  Hills. 

XXX. 

"WHERE    ALL  THE   LOVERS   CAJs^   HIDE." 

It  was  in  the  saffron  light  of  early  morning  that  I  saw 
it,  the  Tall  Calvary  of  the  Valdoche  Hills. 
25 


su 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 


The  night  hcforo  I  had  come  Tip  through  a  long  valley, 
overhung  witli  pines  on  one  side  and  crimsoning  maples 
on  the  other,  and,  travelling  till  nearly  midnight,  had  lain 
down  in  the  hollow  of  a  bank,  and  listened  to  a  little 
river  leap  over  cascades,  and,  far  below,  go  prattling  on  to 
the  greater  river  in  the  south.  ^Fy  eyes  closed,  but  for 
long  I  did  not  sleep.  I  heard  a  night-hawk  go  by  on  a 
lonely  mission,  a  beaver  slide  from  a  log  into  the  water, 
and  the  delicate  humming  of  the  pine  needles  was  a 
drowsy  music,  through  which  broke  by-aud-bye  the  strange 
crying  of  a  loon  from  the  water  below.  I  was  neither 
asleep  nor  awake,  but  steeped  in  this  wide  awe  of  night, 
the  sweet  smell  of  earth  and  running  water  in  my  nostrils. 
Once,  too,  in  a  slight  breeze,  the  scent  of  some  wild  ani- 
mal's nest  came  past,  and  I  found  it  good.  I  lifted  up  a 
handful  of  loose  earth  and  powdered  leaves,  and  held  it 
to  my  nose — a  good,  brave  smell — all  in  a  sort  of  drowsing. 

While  I  mused,  Doltaire's  face  passed  before  me  as  it 
was  in  life,  and  I  heard  him  say  tigain  of  the  peasants, 
"  These  shall  save  the  earth  some  day,  for  they  are  of  it, 
and  live  close  to  it,  and  are  kin  to  it." 

Suddenly  there  rushed  before  me  thfit  scene  in  the 
convent,  when  all  the  devil  in  him  broke  loose  upon  the 
woman  I  loved.  But  turning  on  my  homely  bed  I  looked 
up  and  saw  the  deep  quiet  of  the  skies,  the  stable  peace  of 
the  stars,  and  I  was  a  son  of  the  good  Earth  again,  a  so- 
journer to  the  tents  of  Home.  I  did  not  doubt  that  Alixe 
was  alive  or  that  I  should  find  her.  There  was  assurance 
in  this  benignant  night.  In  that  thought,  dreaming  that 
her  cheek  lay  close  to  mine,  her  arm  around  my  neck,  I 
fell  asleep.  I  waked  to  hear  the  squirrels  stirring  in  the 
trees,  the  whir  of  the  partridge,  and  the  first  unvarying 
note  of  the  oriole.  Turning  on  my  dry,  leafy  bed,  I 
looked  down,  and  saw  in  the  dim  haze  of  dawn  the  beavers 
at  their  house-buildingr. 


"  WHERE  ALL  THE  LOVERS  CAN  HIDE." 


375 


long  valley, 
ing  miiplcs 
it,  hud  lain 
to  a  little 
tling  on  to 
ed,  but  for 
go  by  on  a 
'  the  water, 
lies  was  a 
the  strange 
^'as  neither 
e  of  night, 
ny  nostrils, 
e  wild  ani- 
lifted  up  a 
md  held  it 
'.  drowsing, 
•e  me  as  it 
J  peasants, 
y  are  of  it, 

!ne  in  the 
upon  the 
d  I  looked 
e  peace  of 
gain,  a  so- 
that  Alixe 
assurance 
ming  that 
nv  neck,  I 
ing  in  the 
unvarying 
,fy  bed,  I 
le  beavers 


I  was  at  the  beginning  of  a  doop  gorge  or  valley,  on 
one  side  of  which  was  a  steep,  slo[)ing  hill  of  grass  and 
trees,  and  on  the  otlier  a  huge  escarpment  of  mossed  and 
jagged  rocks.  Tlicn,  lartlier  up,  the  valley  seemed  to  end 
in  a  huge  promontory.  On  this  great  wedge  grim  shapes 
loomed  in  the  mist,  uiicoutli  and  shadowv  and  unnatural 
— a  lonely,  mysterious  Brocken,  impossible  to  human  ten- 
antry. Yet  as  I  watched  the  mist  slowly  rise,  there  grew 
in  me  the  feeling  that  there  lay  the  end  of  my  quest.  I 
came  down  to  the  brook,  bathed  my  fa(;e  and  hands,  ate 
my  frugal  breakfast  of  bread,  with  berries  i)i('ked  from 
the  hillside,  and,  as  the  yellow  light  of  the  rising  sun 
broke  over  the  promontory,  1  saw  the  Tall  Calvary  upon 
a  knoll,  strange  comrade  to  the  huge  rocks  and  monoliths 
— as  it  were  vast  playthings  of  the  Mighty  Men,  the  fabled 
ancestors  of  the  Indian  races  of  the  land. 

I  started  up  the  valley,  and  presently  all  the  earth  grew 
blithe,  and  the  birds  filled  the  woods  and  valleys  with 
jocund  noise. 

It  was  near  noon  before  I  knew  that  my  pilgrimage 
was  over. 

Coming  round  a  point  of  rock,  I  saw  the  Gray  ]\Ionk, 
of  whom  strange  legends  had  lately  travelled  to  the  city. 
I  took  oif  my  cap  to  him  reverently ;  but  all  at  once  he 
threw  back  his  cowl,  and  I  saw — no  monk,  but,  much 
altered,  the  good  chaplain  who  had  married  me  to  Alixe 
in  the  CluUeau  St.  Louis.  He  had  been  hurt  when  he 
was  fired  upon  in  the  water  as  he  tried  for  freedom ;  had 
escaped,  however,  got  to  shore,  and  made  his  way  into  the 
woods.  There  he  had  met  Mathilde,  who  led  him  to  her 
lonelv  home  in  tliis  hill.  Heeiui^'  the  Tall  Calvarv  he  had 
conceived  the  idea  of  this  disguise,- and  Mathilde  had 
brought  him  the  robe  for  the  purpose. 

In  a  secluded  ca\e  I  found  Alixe  with  her  father,  car- 
ing for  him,  for  he  was  not  yet  wholly  recovered  from  his 


376 


THE  SEATS  OF  THE   MIGHT V. 


injuries.  There  was  no  waitiiii^  now.  Tlie  ban  of  Church 
did  not  lioUl  my  dear  <rirl  back,  nor  did  her  fatlier  do 
aught  but  smile  wlieu  she  came  hiughing  and  weeping  into 
mv  arms. 

"Jio))ert,  0  Ivobert,  Tiobert !"  she  cried, 'and  at  first 
that  was  all  that  she  could  sav. 

The  good  Seigneur  put  out  his  hand  to  nie  beseech- 
ingly.    I  took  it,  clas]:)ed  it. 

"The  eityV"  he  asked. 

"  Is  ours,"  1  answered. 

"  And  my  son — my  son  ?  " 

I  told  him  how,  the  night  that  the  city  was  taken,  the 
Chevalier  de  la  Darante  and  1  liad  gone  a  sad  journey  in 
a  boat  to  the  Isle  of  Orleans,  and  there,  in  the  chapel 
yard,  near  to  his  father's  chateau,  we  had  laid  a  brave  and 
honest  gentleman  who  died  lighting  for  his  country. 

By-and-bye,  when  their  grief  had  a  little  abated,  I  took 
them  out  into  the  sunshine.  A  pleasant  green  valley  lay 
to  the  north,  and  to  the  south,  far  oiT,  was  tlie  wall  -of 
rosy  hills  that  hid  the  captured  town.  Peace  was  upon  it 
all,  and  upon  us. 

As  we  stood  there,  a  scarlet  figure  came  winding  in 
and  out  among  the  giant  stones,  crosses  hanging  at  her 
girdle.  She  ap})roached  us,  and,  seeing  me,  she  said : 
"  Hush  I     I  know  a  ])lace  where  all  the  lovers  can  hide." 

And  she  put  a  little  wooden  cross  into  my  bauds. 


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RiDVARD  KirLiNT.'s  Nkw  Book. 

y "///';  SEVEN  SEAS, 
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to  be  termed  rouj^dily  the  romance  of 
applied  science,  wiiich  Mr.  Kiplinj,^  has 
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impression  throui,'hout  the  Ilni^lish-speakinj;'  world  which  will  be  deepen*  d 
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Here  tiu;  realist  and  romanticist  unite.  To  the  old  Scotch  enj^ineer,  an  uncon- 
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fication of  the  Supreme  Power  which  he  recoj2:ni;'es  overall.  The  steam- 
ship euf^ine,  or  the  locomotive  engine,  or  any  other  high  expression  of 
matter  animated  by  mind,  is  a  theme  for  modern  poetry,  so  imposing-,  so 
suggestive,  and  so  direct  that  it  is  only  strange  the  poets  ha\e  given  so  little 
thought  to  the  significance  and  power  of  the  most  characteristic  products  of 
their  age. 

Our  own  time  has  furnished  no  better  proofs  of  the  poet's  illuminating 
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])atriotism  in  "  The  Native  Horn,"  his  apotheosis  of  the  sea  pow<^r  in  poems 
like  "The  flag  of  I'ngland,"  "The  liolivar,"  and  "The  Camperdown," 
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Transcript. 

"  rhere  is  nothing  in  American  fiction  to  compare  with  it.  .  .  .  Mr.  Crane  has 
added  to  American  literature  something  that  has  never  been  done  before,  and  that  is, 
in  its  own  peculiar  way,  inimitable." — Boston  Beacon. 

"Holds  one  irrevocably-  There  is  no  possibility  of  resistance  when  once  you  are 
in  its  grasp."' — Ball  Mall  Gazette. 

"A  truer  and  completer  picture  of  the  war  than  either  Tolstoy  or  Zola." — London 
Netu  Review. 

"A  remarkable  study  of  the  average  mind  under  strejs  of  battle.  ...  A  really  fine 
achievement."— Z(7;/(/(>«  Daily  Chronicle. 

"  Nc'  merely  a  remarkable  book;  it  is  a  revelation. "—5/'.  yames's  Gazette. 


New  York :    D.  APPLETON   &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


■n\ 


% 


D.   APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


"A  better  book  than  'The  PrlKoner  of  Zendm." '~I.oH<foM  <^ueen. 

^nilE   CIIROXICLES   OF  COUNT  ANTONIO. 

-*        I?y  Anthony  Hori:,  author  of  "The  tlod  in  the  Car,"  •'  The 

I'risoncr  of  Zcnila,"  etc.     \\  ith  phtjtogravurc  rrontispicco  l)y 

S.  W.  Van  Schaick.     Third  cdiiion.     i^ino.     Ciuth,  I1.50. 

"  No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  recoiintinR  than  are  those  of  Antonio  of 
Monte  Velhito,  a  very  Hayard  anumR  outlaws.  .  .  .  To  .-ill  those  whose  jiulses  still  stir 
at  the  re<  it.«l  of  deeds  of  lii>;li  courage,  we  may  recdiiimcnd  this  book.  .  .  .  The  chron- 
icle conveys  the  cmotiou  of  heroic  adventure,  .niid  is  i)ictures(iiicly  written."— /,(-«^/<'« 
Ditily  Sews, 

"It  has  literary  merits  all  its  own,  of  a  deliberate  and  rather  deep  order.  ...  In 
point  of  execution  '  Ihe  Chronicles  of  Count  Antonio*  is  the  best  work  that  Mr.  Hope 
has  yet  done.  The  desi>;n  is  clearer,  the  workmanship  more  elaborate,  the  style  more 
Colored.  .  .  .  The  incidents  are  nu)^t  ingenious,  they  aic  told  (]uietly,  but  with  great 
cunning,  and  the  Quixotic  sentiment  which  pervades  it  all  is  exceedingly  pleasant."— 
\\  tiifuinster  Gazette, 

"  A  romance  worthy  of  all  tlic  expectations  raided  by  the  brilliancy  of  his  former 
books,  and  likely  to  be  read  with  a  keen  enjoyment  and  a  hcilthy  exaltation  of  the 
spirits  by  every  one  who  takes  it  up." — V/ie  Scotsman, 

"A  gallant  tale,  wiitten  widi  unfailing  freshness  and  s^mi."— London  Daily 
Telegraph. 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  rom.inces  written  in  F.nglish  within  many  days.  The 
quaint  simplicity  of  its  style  isdelightfid,  and  the  adventures  recorded  in  these  'Chron- 
icles of  Count  Antonio'  arc  as  stirring  antl  ingenious  as  any  conceived  even  by  Wey- 
man  at  his  best." — Neiv  York  World. 

"  Romance  of  the  real  flavor,  wholly  and  entirely  romance,  and  nar-  'ted  in  true  ro- 
mantic  style.  The  characters,  drawn  with  such  masterly  handling,  arr  not  merely  pic- 
tures .ind  portraits,  but  statu'"s  that  are  alive  and  .step  boldly  forward  Irom  the  canvas." 
— Boston  Courier. 

"  Told  in  a  wonderfully  simple  and  direct  style,  and  with  the  magic  touch  of  a  man 
who  has  the  genius  of  narrative,  making  tlie  varied  incidents  flow  naturally  and  rapidly 
in  a  stream  of  sparkling  discourse."— /'<•/';<'//  'Iribuue, 

"  Fasily  ranks  with,  if  not  nbove,  '  A  Prisoner  of  Zenda.'  .  .  .  Wonderfully  strong, 
graphic,  and  compels  the  interest  of  the  most  blasd  wo\-^\  reader." — Boston  Advertiser. 

"  No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  telling  than  those  of  Count  Antonio.  .  ,  . 
The  author  knows  full  well  how  to  make  every  pulse  thrill,  and  how  to  hold  his  readers 
under  the  spell  of  his  magic." — Boston  Herald. 

"  A  book  to  make  women  weep  proud  tears,  and  the  blood  of  men  to  tingle  with 
knightly  fervor.  ...  In  '  C  ount  Antonio  '  we  think  Mr.  Hope  siirpasses  himself,  as  he 
has  already  surpassed  ail  the  other  story-tellers  of  the  period." — New  York  Spirit  oj 
the  Times, 


New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


NS. 

fOH  QlittH. 

V7VA/0. 
Car,"  ••  The 
iUisi)iccc  by 
>.  I1.50. 

'  of  Aiifonio  of 
liulscs  Mill  stir 
■  .  '1  he  cliron- 

"nler.  ...  In 
tlini  Mr.  Hope 
t'le  style  more 
)iit  with  great 
y  pleasant."— 

of  his  former 
iltation  of  the 

o*uioft  Daily 

iy  days.  The 
these  '  Chroii- 
:ven  by  Wey- 

'•d  in  true  re 

ot  merely  pjc- 

the  canvas." 

uch  of  a  man 
y  and  rapidly 

rfully  strong, 
Advertiser, 

in  toil  io.  .  .  , 
d  his  readers 

>  tingle  with 
imself,  as  he 
^rk  Spirit  oj 


me. 


T 


n.   APPLFTON  h   CO.'S  PURI.ICATIONS. 

HE  STATEMENT  OE  STELLA  MAEERLA'. 

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once."  -  I.omlon  Daily  Chicuh  le. 

"A  \NiMlv  f.uitastir  stor>',  ihrillint:  and  impressive.  .  .  .  Has  ;ui  air  nf  vivid  reility, 
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M. 


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don Saturday  Review. 

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NTO      THE     HIGHWAYS     AND     HEDGES. 

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power  and  real- 

utions,  worthy  to 

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ook  that  has  not 
ance  and  spirit- 
or  exaggerated 
id,  yet  there  are 
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withm  the  same  breast;  contending  a^^ainsi  each  other,  as  it  were,  the  one  to  raise  him 
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brought  to  it  as  much  as  they  took  away.  ...  1  have  called  my  story  a  saga,  merely 
because  it  follow  s  the  epic  method,  and  1  must  not  claim  for  it  at  any  point  the  weighty 
responsibility  of  history,  or  serious  obliuations  to  the  world  of  fact.  Ijut  it  matters  not 
to  me  what  ircland'-rs  may  call  '  'i'he  Fioiidnan,'  if  thty  will  honor  me  by  readmg  it  in 
the  open  hearted  spirit  .'url  with  the  free  mind  with  which  they  are  content  to  read  of 
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c 


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Always  that  an  author  can  succeed  eipially  well  in  tragedy  and  in  ccmiedy,  bui  it  looks 
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ailing  has  a  force 
of  enduring  fame 

»f  tho^e  elements 
at  fierce  waifare 

■  one  to  raise  liim 

i.ane.  Never  in 
tliese   forces  for 

I  tlian  Mr.  Caine 


'/ie   Isle   of 

vork,  and  '  The 
■lapters  have  an 
e  rarely  excited 

." — San  Fran- 

^■'—Illustrated 

^^y."— Chicago 

o.     Cloth, 


hut  I  am  con- 
id  readers  who 
a  saga,  merely 
int  the  weighty 
t  it  matters  lujt 
by  rending  it  in 
tent  to  read  of 


A    Manx 


is  Httle  tale  is 
ith.  It  is  not 
y,  biii  it  looks 
don   Literary 

umorous  little 
and  much  of 


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nue. 


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THE   STORY   OF  THE   WEST   SERIES. 
Edited  by  Ripley  Hitchcock. 

"There  isav.ist  extent  of  territory  lying  between  the  Missonri  River  and  the  Pacific 
coast  which  has  barely  been  skiinmcd  over  so  far.  That  the  conditions  of  life  therein 
are  umlergoing  changes  little  short  olinarvelous  will  be  understood  when  one  recalls 
the  fact  that  the  first  white  male  child  born  in  Kansas  is  still  living  there;  and  Kansas 
is  by  no  means  one  of  the  newer  States,  Revolutionary  iiulced  has  been  the  upturning 
of  the  old  coiuluion  of  affairs,  and  little  remains  dicreot,  and  less  will  remain  as  each 
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the  cowboy  life,  the  wild  horse,  and  the  antelope.  Histories,  many  of  them,  have  been 
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vho  knew  not  personally  that  life  of  kaleidoscopic  allurement.  Hut  ere  it  shall  !  ave 
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T 


NOW  READY. 

HE  STORY  OF    THE  INDLAN.     By  George 

Bird  CIrin.nell,  author  of  "  Pawnee  Hero  Stories,"  "  Blackfoot 
Lodge  Tales,"  ete.     121110.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

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sustained  interest,  it  is  at  the  same  time  ch:n:icteri7.ed  by  a  grace  of  style  which  is  rarely 
to  be  looked  for  in  such  a  work,  and  which  adds  not  a  little  to  the  charm  of  it." — Lon- 
don Daily  Chronicle. 

"  Only  an  author  (pialified  by  personal  e.vperience  could  offer  us  a  profitable  study 
of  a  race  so  alien  from  our  owu  as  is  the  Indian  in  thought,  feeling,  and  culture.  Only 
long  association  with  Indians  can  enable  a  white  man  measurably  to  comprehend  their 
thoughts  and  enter  into  their  feclin^js.  Such  a.ssociation  has  been  Mr.  Grinnell's.— 
New  York  Sun, 


T 


HE    STORY    OF    THE    MINE.     By  Charles 

Howard  Shixn.     Illtistrated.     121110.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  figures  of  the  prospector  and  the  miner  are  clearly  outlined  in  the 
course  of  the  romantic  story  of  that  mine  which  mf>re  than  any  other  em- 
bodies the  romance,  the  vicissitudes,  the  triumphs,  the  excitement,  and  the 
science  of  mining  life— the  Great  Com.stock  Lode.  From  the  prospector, 
throuf^h  development  and  deep-mininj;:,  to  the  last  of  the  stock  gambling, 
the  story  is  told  in  a  way  that  presents  a  singularly  vivid  and  engrossing 
picture  of  a  life  which  has  played  so  large  a  part  in  tlie  development  of 
the  remoter  West. 

IN  PR  EPA  R.  I  TION. 

The  Story  of  the  Trapper.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

The  Story  of  the  Cowboy.     By  E.  Hough. 

The  Story  of  the  Soldier.    By  Capt.  J.  McB.  Stembel,  U.  S.  A. 

The  ^tory  of  the  Explorer. 

The  Story  of  the  Railroad. 


New  York:  r.-APrU£TON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


"/IT' 

3952,116 

SCARBOROUGH   TOWNSHIP 
PUBLIC   LIBRARY 


f 


^erand  the  Pacific 
ions  of  life  tlierein 
when  one  recalls 
lere;  and  Kansas 
pen  the  upturning 
ill  remain  as  each 
:  and  Conianches, 
fthem,  have  hecn 
ly  all  by  outsiders 
t.ere  it  shall  lave 
ling  portrayals  of 
to  describe  it."— 


By  George 
,"  "  Blackfoot 


W^estern  Indians, 
nd  remarkable  in 
le  which  is  rarely 
rm  o{ k."~Lo//. 

profitable  study 
1  culture.  t)nly 
omprehend  their 
Ir.  GrinneU's.— 


'  Charles 
50. 

utlined  in  the 
any  other  em- 
nent,  and  the 
le  prospector, 
•ck  gambling:, 
nd  en{,^rossin{j 
velopment  of 


5EL,  U.  S.  A. 


enue. 


